Acquainted With The Night
by BleedsOrange
Summary: Santana Lopez has grown up with Brittany Pierce, the girl next-door. It's the 1920's and even though rules restrict it, they manage to become the best of friends. Somewhere along the way, love comes into play. Their lives are full of ups and downs, but they always find each other. In the end, if you're meant to be, love will find a way. AU *On HIATUS until further notice*
1. 1: Nice to Make Your Acquaintance

_**Fact: Latino immigrants first started arriving in Michigan around the year 1915. On April 6th, 1917 the United States declared war on Germany and officially entered WW1.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Nice to Make Your Acquaintance**_

_**Somewhere in 1917**_

You believe that if things in your life were ever meant to be easy and carefree, you would have been born to a different generation. One whose expectations were not dictated and influenced by such privileged laws of society. Though you do suspect that given any existence within any generation, there would always be some obstacle or class restraint that would thus hinder you and force you find your own way around each and every one of them.

Never would such a thing prevent you from maintaining endurance though it all and developing into someone greater and more illustrious than was ever expected or thought of for you. Not in any circumstances. You weren't about to let anyone, or anything, get in your way of such a desire. Sometimes, however, the way your life turns out is not always strictly up to you.

It so happens that the rules and expectations that exist in the generation that you were born into were initiated to relegate and shepherd those different than the masses of society, particularly _American _society. You had realized from a very young age that because of that, thing's would involve conscientious effort, take much longer and be much more difficult.

You are very aware of the fact that your life, that you have lived thus far, has been rather average, mediocre at best.

You know you were born during hurricane season in the summer of 1910 and that your last name is Lopez. Those were the first things your mama taught you when you were of age to comprehend. Facts that have been imparted to you in such a manner are always the simplest things in life to remember.

You had a decent childhood, you feel reasonable saying so, despite the notion that you still are technically an adolescent. You were provided with what you suppose was a normal up bringing, particularly in essence of someone who is constantly and immediately judged by the color of their skin. You aren't as dark as some of the other families you had seen living in your neighborhood, but it was enough so that you had to, and still must, follow the rules that had already been set in place. Particularly when the rest of your family appears darker than you at most times.

You're parents assured you that your Puerto Rican blood was distinct and something to be proud of. Your papa talked of strong wills and determination. Your mother spoke about an impassioned devotion and unhindered affection. They both preached a civilized decorum; you were always required to act better than was expected of you.

In truth, with the unvarying rules, insults and hate you were incessantly subjected to, you never really saw what your parents were assuring, but still you appreciated the effort. That still would not prevent you from achieving respect and a greatness reserved strictly for those of the white and aristocratic society. You always had the notion that you were meant for something greater, and it was going to come to you someday, you could feel it in your bones.

It was because of this that you always let the bad talk slip right off your back. That was all it was after all, prattle spoken by the ignorant and misdirected._ Let them say what they wanted of you_, as you always found it easier to disregard their words anyway. And if were stupid enough to keep talking, that was when you let your short fuse get the best of you and your opinion be known with vicious words and swift fists.

You found that your temper would get you in trouble a lot in your life.

Your parents, who worked in the sugar cane fields of your island hometown and were thus not often home, had always wanted the best for you and your three brothers. And they always tried their hardest to provide it. Stern as they were, you know you were raised in a good family. Your parents looked after those they loved.

That's why, shortly before you turned six years old, your mama and papa moved you, your ten year-old brother David, eight year-old brother Juan, and your two year-old brother Rudy, off of the island of Puerto Rico and set sail for the continent of America.

Your father, as well as many other laborers of your hometown, had caught wind of abundant job openings across the ever-expanding nation. It had been said that many of the American workers were signing up and going off to fight in a war and what not. And with the United States acquisition of Puerto Rico some eighteen years prior, the transition for your family was made easier.

So with hopes of grasping their own American dream, Oscar and Camilla Lopez set off with their family. Their expeditions found them in a small, ethnically established part of the neighborhood in lower eastside of Corktown, Michigan-which lay just on the outskirts of the mass-producing sugar beat, and auto-industry, city of Detroit.

It was new. It was exciting. It was America. You'd never seen anything like it.

Unfortunately, it was also poor, rundown, unsafe and disregarded. Particularly dangerous was the area of town in which you and your family relocated to.

It was a relegated, which was just another word for segregated, area of town. Or more accurately, it was a single street in town. One whole street full of little single-family homes, most of which spared two bedrooms and one bathroom maximum.

Irish Immigrants had originally established the neighborhood of Corktown back in the 1830's, but over time the area became more ethnically diverse, and much less spacious. The lack of space, and the general occupants of what little space was left, lead to heavy crime and the much more segregated area of town in which you and your family resided in.

Despite this, your parent's were very lucky in their acquisition of a home for you and your siblings. Unfortunately, the house you grew up in did only have three bedrooms and a bathroom. Not to be too ungrateful seeing as how that was more than most of the other families that lived on your street had. In the back of your mind though, you always wanted something more, and you knew someday you would have it.

Still, you were fortunate enough seeing as how you knew for a fact that some of the families that lived on your street had six or more individuals staying together in two bedroom, one-bath houses. You couldn't imagine trying to share with so many people in such little space.

You suppose it could also be called a fortunate occurrence that you lived with four boys who had an easier time going pee and getting ready for the day than you and your mother. And as the third youngest in your family, you shared a room with your littlest brother Rudy. It wasn't that bad because Rudy was small and quiet. At times he would wake you up in the middle of the night when he suffered night terrors but it sure beat bunking with your two older brothers. David and Juan _never_ got along.

Juan was constantly trying to best David, and he was never successful. Juan was a bully, you all knew it, but David never had the heart to beat it out of him. You just hated that because you were a girl you were expected not to hit or fight or do anything that could get you dirty or present you in a manner less than ladylike.

That never stopped you though. In fact, you were more daring and triumphant than any of your brothers in every task you undertook. You rode your rusty old bicycle faster, hit a ball further, and you could punch harder (though you suspected David went easy sometimes, that or he just didn't enjoy hitting people).

You had to be better than your brothers-it was the only way to survive in your world. Since your life was nothing extravagant or special. You spent your free time imagining living a life of luxury-like the ones you periodically saw pictured in the posters posted around town, the ones you would catch a glimpse of on the rare occasion your mama would let you accompany her to market in town.

You knew that type of life wasn't the one you were cut out to live though. At least not according to anyone else. You see, your skin tone produced much more than constant ridicule. No one, sometimes not even your own family, ever thought you would go further than the town you lived in. It just wasn't something someone from your background ever did. You were bound and determined though, no way were you going to let the color of your skin slow you down.

You knew it would be harder to make something of yourself than your parent's had, seeing how they weren't doing much in the sense of moving up. You don't blame them though, they worked hard for their money, and they supported you and your brother's as best they could.

Your father was a sugar beat handler who worked for the local production plant. His previous experience, growing up and working on a sugar cane farm back in Puerto Rico, came in handy when acquiring his new job, but just like before it kept him away from home. He worked eleven-hour days five days a week and even though he only made about $1.75 a day, it was still far more sufficient as opposed to the wages he had made in his old country.

Your mother too worked in the fields and at the plant when possible. Though raising a family of four took up most of her time, especially with two growing older boys and a curious rabble-rouser such as yourself. You couldn't help that trouble always found you though-it just seemed to work out that way.

A neighbors broken window here. A dropped milk bottle there. Once you accidently set fire to the outdoor shed when Juan told you that you would never be able to start a fire as fast as him, you did, but it also spread faster than you thought it would. You got a lashing for that.

All in all, your life was average, and in truth your life was also often filled with disparity. It was hard not to be when you lived in a country where most of the other occupants loathed you. It was dark and dreary for the most part.

That is except for that one shining bright spot in it all. A light at the end of a tunnel where the sound found a way to shine through an illuminate you in a radiant, all encompassing light. Your life was mediocre and you didn't have much to look up to. But you did have something, and someone to look forward to seeing and being around. Someone who lit up your world like just that light at the end of the tunnel, a bright spot that found you when you least expected it.

This luminosity in your dark and dreary world that would save you over and over again from things you didn't even understand or realize about yourself came in the form of a blonde haired, blue-eyed girl named Brittany.

* * *

_**July 8**__**th**__**, 1917 lower eastside of Corktown, Michigan**_

You don't remember a lot of the little details of your childhood.

You remember _when_ you moved to America, the excitement and the fear of coming to the Land of Promises and Opportunity. But the exact details of the move and events surrounding it, barring the obvious things, are foggy and clouded and seem so long ago.

You recall that your families move had something to do with a war, which would later be dubbed the 'Great War' that was raging on in Europe and how most of the able American's were going off and fighting in it. A lot of things were changing in America, a lot of things you didn't comprehend. You were young and you didn't really know what they all meant.

You hated remaining ignorant but what was an almost six-year old girl to do about such a thing? Well you had plans to do a lot, you just had to figure out how.

You know that at some point before your sixth birthday, you acquired the small scar that rests on the bottom right hand corner of your lip-where your tan skin connects with the deep almost purple of your lips-but you don't remember _how_ you got the scar.

You know that one of your brother's, you don't remember _who_, threw a rock at old man Morris', the ancient and crotchety man who lived in the house at the end of the street, window and broke it. (You vaguely consider it quite possibly could have been you.)

You're fairly certain that you buried something of great importance, at least of great importance to child such as yourself, somewhere in the backyard but the _what_ you buried and the precise _where_ you buried it completely escapes you.

You are aware of the rules that exist in your neighborhood and within society in general. They control your life, and the lives of those around you. You know they are important, seeing as how your mama and papa had been sure to tell you about them from a very young age. But, for the life of you, you don't completely understand _why_ the rules exist and _why _you are considered so much different than other people simply because the color of your skin is a bit tanner than others.

You don't remember a lot of details about your life, but you know one thing for sure.

You will never forget the when, how, what, where and why of the very first time you met Brittany Pierce.

You were outside; it was a hot July mid afternoon. You were trying to find any way to beat the heat and pass away the day until suppertime called you inside to the coolness of shade. You longed for the days of autumn when the leaves would flutter down from the trees and litter the earth in impressive hues of red, orange, and gold. You enjoyed the cool autumn breeze and the freshness that carried on the wind, especially when you caught the scent of fresh baked apple pie or a home cooked meal that was not your mama's.

You enjoyed your mama's meals very much, but it wasn't often you or your family were ever able to take pleasure in very much else outside of economical, easy to obtain food. Furthermore, it was a rarity to consume any kind of sweet food besides easily produced sugar cookies and other simple sugar treats. Like the those that cost less than a nickel for more than a pound. That kind of treat would last you and your brother's a good month if rationed correctly, and barring Juan's incessant greed.

You'd always wished to try a ritzy, grand, limited to the high-class dessert. Naturally, sugar was easy for your family to obtain, and steadily less expensive, but the apples and cinnamon required for such an American dessert like apple pie were habitually out of the picture for you.

Your thoughts had lingered on your longings far more extendedly than you had realized and when you gathered your wits about you and brought your mind back from it's daydreams you perceived the occurrences of that hot summer day.

You were standing outside the two story faded blue row house you called home. Your older brothers had retrieved the garden hose and were taking turns spraying each other with it in the front yard. It was something you often spent doing in the hot summer sun, and had been ever since your family settled in to the neighborhood almost a year ago to that day.

You were enjoying the cool spray of water that filtered through the hose. Lapping up its sparkling and refreshing properties. You leisurely watched as the occasion jalopy rambled on down the asphalt in front of you. Things were easy going and things were normal. But then Juan had to turn and start picking on little Rudy, just like he always does.

You and David stepped in to stop him before the youngest Lopez got seriously injured. Just like you always do.

That's when an automobile pulled up into the gravel drive of the house next to your parents. You were surprised and curious about that turn of events; the house next door had been vacant ever since you could remember. Sometimes you and your brother's joked and told ghost stories about the house to Rudy in an effort to scare the young boy. (You'd never admit it to David or Juan that at night you made sure to tell Rudy that the stories weren't true, you knew he got nightmares frequently and you didn't want to give him anything more to bring them on.)

The house next door to yours, which, built in the fashion of rowhouses that were so popular back then, was sectioned a mere four feet from yours so that it rested parallel to yours and perpendicular to the street. It was old and decrepit, abandoned and forgotten like the houses destroyed in the hurricanes you remember from back on the home island. You couldn't imagine why or how someone could live there. Or why they would want to. Not to say that your house or life had much in the way of anything better, but you had a loving family and in your consideration, a warm and welcoming home.

Nevertheless, you watched as an old backfiring Studebaker four-seater parked outside of the vacant chipped yellow house and a family of four exited the automobiles rather cramped confines.

Even though all three of your brother's released simultaneous gasps of surprise, you don't think anyone could have been as surprised looking as you.

Because the family that exited the automobile, with intent to live in the old vacant house, well they weren't just any family.

They were a _white_ family. Their fair skin shone cleaner and brighter than any you had ever laid witness to before. It was unprecedented for such a family to live on that street. You didn't know of any such family within a mile radius, and you very rarely had set your eyes upon more than two white individuals at a time. But there standing in the gravel drive across the way stood _four _fair-skinned individuals.

Furthermore, they weren't just any white family, but a family of three blondes and one oddly misplaced looking light brown haired individual, all dressed in their Sunday best family. You don't think you'd ever seen such golden blonde locks in all your life. The color was a vibrant yellow that reminded you of the perfect literary descriptions of princesses from fairy tales and make believe that your mother used to tell you of when you were only a baby.

The family consisted of two males and two females. Mother and father, brother and sister. (You assumed.)

You are fairly certain you recall your jaw falling down to the ground. (If of course that were a possibility).

What was even more shocking, you vividly remember, was the way the smallest blonde girl had turned and gazed in the direction of you and your undoubtedly gapping brothers.

Her skin, though still shining clean and bright, looked as though it had been lightly kissed by the sun making it slightly more of a peach complexion than the rest of her family. From your position, you could even make out a section of skin darkened just slightly more than that rest in a patch that stretched over her nose. Spattered in constellations that could rival the very stars.

Her locks of golden blonde hair fell in ringlets past her shoulders, and framed her oval face.

Even from the distance, you could tell that her eyes were the bluest you'd ever seen. More so than the water in summertime at the beach your parents used to take you to back in Puerto Rico when you were younger.

Pure, bright, beautiful.

The girl seemed to study your brother's for a few seconds before she turned her attention on you. A small smile formed on her face.

In the amount of time it took for your heart to miss a beat, the girl had skipped over and was tilted over slightly at the waist her head cocked up and her eyes peering up at you. You should have felt embarrassed that you were shorter, but you always had been small for your age.

The look of curiosity from the blonde did not deter you from studying her, you were used to new people staring at you. Sometimes the looks were inquisitive, displaying a depth of interest. Often times, they were wholly incredulous and critically condemning as if the very sight of you was repulsive.

You guessed that the blonde's intense, and resolute, curiosity in you stemed from her very initial suspicions of you. That is to say, you believed said suspicions were most undoubtedly concerning whether or not you were, in fact, a boy. You were after all dressed as such, but in a family of boys your mother never had the opportunity to put you in anything else less boyish.

Mostly because you wouldn't let her. Dresses were nice and all, but your preferred the less constricting feel and freedom of a pair of trousers and a button down shirt. Something that wouldn't change much through the years.

"Hello." A voice suddenly startled you out of your inner thoughts. Your eyes snapped up and met blue, again. You got a little lost in them. You remembered you had been previously addressed and where found in want of a reply.

The girl was not only talking to you, but she was still smiling, and once more, she was smiling at _you_. The way her voice flowed from her lips reminded you of the Sunday hymns you'd heard as they carried down the line from the gospel church just down the street. Except this girl's voice was more resplendent than any you had ever heard before.

Sweet, smooth, angelic.

You quickly glanced to your left where you knew your oldest brother David was standing. You were shocked to find he had his head formally bowed and his linen cream-colored flat cap grasped firmly and respectfully in his hands which he held immobile in front of him.

The fact that David was presenting himself so formally was not what shocked you; instead it was the concept that he had removed his cap at all. It was a very rare occurrence for him to do so, as he positively revered that hat. You all had flat caps, but David's was the only one whose wasn't patch worked. He was the oldest after all. Like everything else he owned, he got it new while his old stuff was passed down to Juan, then you and finally Rudy if there was anything left. That was just how things worked in your modest family.

As you swiftly recognized the fact that your brother's were not responding or even glancing up at the girl, you realized how serious the situation you had found yourself in actually was. Your brothers never, especially not the socialite David, ever backed down from meeting a new person, though now that you recall, his interaction with those of a fairer skin tone was rare and underprivileged-like much else in your world.

Upon that realization, your eyes went even wider. You were positive they looked like the saucers you saw those proper white folk in the city place their teacups on when they were not sipping from them.

The matter you were involved in was clearly one that necessitated the widening of your eyes. After all, no white individual had ever addressed you so formally and as such; you did not know what to do about it nor did you know how to respond.

Before you could even construct a reply for the blonde haired girl, you heard Juan whisper tense and low next to you.

"It's against the rules Santana. You talk to her and we'll all get whipped, and then I'll whip you myself."

You remember how your jaw clenched at his threat. Juan never stopped being a bully, it didn't matter that you were related-that never seemed to bother him. He felt better about himself when he pushed smaller people around, particularly Rudy, and one ill-fated attempt with you, as if it was an easier and mores pleasurable task to do so. Juan was an imbecile though; he should have known that such a threat would immediately cause you to defy his wishes.

You didn't let anyone else push you around, and you always took any lashes that were accorded to you without a single tear-you sure as hell weren't going to let your bully older brother intimidate you. Standing tall you turned enough to fully face the blonde girl and show your back to Juan.

"Hello." You found yourself croaking back. You were only six, now almost seven years old, you knew there were rules and all but hadn't the blonde girl already been the one to break them?

"What's your name?" The girl then chirped, the smile not leaving her face. You swallowed hard at that, you _never_ got asked those kinds of questions. No one ever bothered to hear your opinion, in fact it was not often you were even noticed with the exception of the fleeting glance that made you feel uncomfortable on more than one occasion.

Even more so, you rarely ever have the opportunity to speak your name aloud, outside of your family and close friends mind you.

"Santana." You mumbled. It wasn't intentional that you had said it so quiet and mouse like; you were just still so shocked. At that point you probably would have told the blonde girl anything she wanted to know. If you indeed knew the answer, but you hoped she wouldn't trifle you with anything too difficult.

Your head was tilted down, but you saw movement out of the corner of your right eye.

Curiously you glanced up.

The blonde girl with the shining blue eyes had her hand extended in front of her. She was looking at you expectantly and you realized she wanted you to shake her hand.

You'd never touched a white girls hand before. That was most certainly against the rules.

You were feeling confident, however, and at the very best; at least you would have a tale to tell in conversations once lessons started up again. Not that anyone would have had a mind to believe such accounts.

It had hit you right then like a brick wall, this blonde girl, this white blonde haired proper folk girl, that appeared as though she belonged somewhere far more extravagant than the gravel patch she had been occupying, she was giving you a choice. You wouldn't find out until later in life that when given a choice-between Brittany and anything else-you would always pick Brittany. You think that you will always choose her, there's just something about her that draws you in and keeps you grounded like nothing has ever come close to doing your entire life.

After staring at her outstretched hand for no more than a few seconds, you made your choice and stretched out your mud stained and dirty hand out. Though you felt slightly ashamed you were far too nervous to let it bother you.

Your fingers grasped the girls and she gave a firm squeeze back, shaking your joined hands up and down a couple times.

All you could do was marvel at the contrast in skin tone between your tanned and dirty hand and her pale, pure and clean one.

Was this truth? You couldn't help but wonder-it was all so surreal.

You glanced up into the blue eyes again. You enjoyed the color because it was very calming, it captivated you and you found that you would very much enjoy considering the underlining beauty of the blue for the foreseeable future. Somehow, the color reminded you of the tranquility that surrounded you the same way the sound of your abuela's voice had when she used to sing you, Juan and Rudy to sleep when you were younger. Even though now Rudy, at three years old, was the only one who got that treatment anymore.

Not that you minded much in the way of it, you weren't a little child anymore after all. Especially so considering out of the three older Lopez siblings, you seemed to be the one with the most fortitude, valor and determination.

You were gazing into the depth of her eyes, lost again like a ship at sea without a compass, you liked how she had gazed right back into yours, it made you feel as if you were remarkably bold. You decided to speak aloud and inquire her name. It was only right, after all.

Before you had the chance a voice was calling from the porch of the once vacant house.

"Brittany Pierce! Get in this house without delay! It is supper time and you know your father is not keen on being kept waiting!" The older of the blonde girls you saw climb out of the still parked Studebaker called to the younger blonde who still stood motionless a foot or two across from you.

You watched the younger blonde girl turn to face the voice. You noticed in that moment that she had not yet let go of your hand.

You often recall the memory of finding that you very much enjoyed the feeling of her hand in yours. It was soft and warm; Brittany's hands were always so gentle and caring, much like the girl herself.

It did and always has, completely contrasted everything about you and your own hands, but Brittany didn't seem to mind then and she hasn't complained about them since.

You looked back up again from starring at your joined hands and found that the blonde was back to staring at you. She had an even brighter smile on her face.

"It was very nice to met you Santana. I am fond of your name. I hope we may play together soon." The girl you knew to now refer to, expectantly in your mind only, as Brittany said to you with a genuine up turn at the corner of her mouth and a cute crinkle of her brow.

Slowly she released your hand. You felt a loss that you couldn't describe.

You nodded your head back to her even though you were still breaking so many rules. You weren't quite sure what she meant by 'playing together soon' but you were much too surprised by everything that had just transpired, you wouldn't even know where to begin to ask Brittany about it.

So you flashed her a small, albeit non-teeth showing, smile. You wanted to offer her more but that was all you could give her for the time being.

Brittany didn't seem to mind as she returned a smile to you, her own teeth sparkling and white, before turning a one eighty and skipping back to the porch her, you later found out, mother had called for her from. When the jovial blonde reached the chipped and ragged looking makeshift section of wood, she turned back to give you one last glance and a small wave before she skipped the rest of the way into the house.

You wanted to wave back. What was breaking one more rule at that point going to do anyway?

You remember seeing Juan fidgeting off to your right and it wasn't a cause of the hot summer sun that had been shrouding you with its unforgiving bright rays and smoldering heat. You knew he was dying to run to your papa and tell him what he just witnessed. (You also remember that he did do such a thing.) Next to bullying, informing your parents on the things that you and your brothers did wrong was Juan's favorite pastime.

You were positive you were going to get talking to that night. For the mere interaction you participated in with Brittany alone. Not even to mention the monumentous amount of rules you broke that you know your papa was not going to be happy about.

Oscar Lopez has always valued his pride, and the last thing he needed back then was some white man accusing him of having disrespectful and misbehaved children. Or worse, a child that had brought harm or was discourteous in such a way it brought shame to a member of the more privileged class.

You also suspected that the lashings were going to come that night. (And they did in the form of your papa's favorite leather work belt; three swift across the backside to instill in you the things you were already quite aware of but had once again disregarded.) You remember you didn't cry, your mind was too focused on the day's previous events that had transpired between you and Brittany.

Somehow, you know you could, and you would, take a thousand lashes to have the chance to talk to and see Brittany again, sooner rather than later.

To this day, you will never forget the first time you met Brittany Pierce.

She changed your life that day, and the very next day you_ saved_ hers.

* * *

**A/N: So I have this extreme fascination with the 1920's right now and I was itching to write a Prohibition type story, so I thought why not put my two favorite ladies in it? Plus, I just finished reading pleasant-hells "How High the Moon" (which like all of her work, is AMAZING...check it out if you haven't already!) and it was so fun to read that it made my desire to write a period story that much greater. So I did. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**-A**


	2. 2: Wrap You Up and Hold You Close

**Fact: Cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) was first performed as mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (or mouth-to-mouth ventilation (MMV)) as early as the 18****th**** century but the chest compression step of CPR was not yet known to be used or publically wide spread until the 1960s.**

* * *

_**Chapter 2: Wrap You Up and Hold You Close**_

One thing better than the spray from a water hose on a hot summer day is a swim in a clear cool riverbed, with its surface regal and flowing, pristine like you'd imagine the sky would look like if flipped upside down and layered across the Earth.

And you and your brother's knew the perfect shore side where no one knows exists and the Detroit River pools off a bit into its own secluded reservoir. Though there is a road that travels by the river, thus far, your private area has managed to stay undetected, almost as if it's presence is in the middle of nowhere.

That's where you, David, Juan and even Rudy find yourselves the day after your initial meeting of the blonde haired girl, and eventual punishment that came from it, Brittany, from next door.

Even though Brittany had been the only one you interacted with, your papa still made it an objective to give you a lashing that suggested you had better not do such a thing again. At least not without following the rules. They were there for a reason after all.

You wanted to argue with your papa that Brittany and her family had been the ones who had moved into your neighborhood, even at six you realized there was something a little strange about that, but you figured telling him such a thing would simply earn you more unpleasant lashes.

So you remained mute on the subject and the next morning he forgot about everything that had transpired and you were allowed to escape with your brother's for some much needed freedom and self-achieved entertainment in the smoldering sun.

You and David are the natural choice to lead the expedition to your respected reservoir. It isn't a long walk, but the sun blaring down on you fells like it is melting the skin right off your body.

Originally, you had intended to go by yourself, but David had reminded you that you would have a difficult time comprehending the signs that led to the river, and that you might have easily gotten lost, never to return again. He was not about to be responsible for such a thing.

Thus David's insistence to accompany you, and your other brother's eventual determination to partake in your adventure, was not met with much resistance on your part. Reluctance you are quite sure, but you had no say in denying anyone if they truly wanted to join on your quest.

It did give you more reason to abhor your inability to read. Sometimes you hated the fact your illiteracy so often hindered your excessive curiosity in discovering and understanding the world around you.

The only optimistic outcome of the whole incident was the fact that you knew that neither Juan nor Rudy could read either. It was also a blessing that David often times helped you out with the simple and smaller words you lack understanding in.

Once the four of you make it to the river reservoir, it doesn't take long for Juan to shove your over towards the tree closest to the edge of the river shore, telling you to climb it and fetch the rope swing you had tied up at the sturdiest branch the first time you ever found the place. Juan made sure that it was _you_ to do it because that was another thing he was not very good at, heights.

You don't mind it as climbing gives you a sense of freedom. When you are high above the ground you feel as though you are a weightless bird, your options limitless. Climbing also often gives you a way to escape from the confines of societal expectations and family dysfunctions and provides you means to get out of harms way if you set Juan off and he decides to retaliate.

Before heading towards the tree, you purposefully shove your irritating brother as hard as you can so he is aware of the notion that he can't simply push you around. His face flushes in anger and you think Juan is about to hit you when David steps up and wraps his hand around the shorter boys forearm, effectively ceasing him from any attempt at swinging at you.

"Will you let it go Juan?" Your older brother addresses Juan before turning to you. "Tanny, go ahead and get the rope. We'll wait for you down here." David says to you. You moderately recoil at the name he calls you by.

As it is with most uncommon or seemingly difficult names, yours got lost somewhere in translation and the result was a name, Tanny, which you acutely detest. It had all started when Rudy was beginning to learn how to speak. He couldn't pronounce the 'S' in your name properly, so he called you Tanny and it just kind of stuck.

You're hoping that someday someone will think up a better one, so you won't have to be called that for the rest of your life.

You nod to David, turning and scampering off towards the big Oak tree whose branches suspend over the reservoir water in a grand and majestic manner as if the tree itself were striving to touch the water and revel in it's essence. You reach the branch where the rope is swung up and shimmy out to unhook it, letting it fall back towards the ground and your brother's waiting hands.

You make haste in climbing down the tree to join the others at the river's shore. Sometimes you may ask to go first, but Juan's usually the one to go first, when he's not too scared-which he doesn't appear to be this time around, so you just stand and wait your turn.

A good hour into your entertainment, your ears suddenly perk up at the sound of a backfiring automobile, it's a familiar sound around town, but particularly within the neighborhood you live in. You stop standing in wait for the rope swing and turn to face towards the gravel road about twenty yards away.

You watch with rapt attention as an old, rusted barely rattling on down the road Jalopy bumbles its way over the gravel.

On the back of the automobile, which is fit with what your papa calls a 'flat bed', are stacks of wooden cartoons covered by a tattered old thick cloth. You don't know what's under the cloth, nor can you make out what's in the cartoons that rattle and sound like glass clanking against each other, but you've always wanted to know. As you're studying the back end of the automobile you catch movement in the front seat and snap your eyes towards the motion.

You've only ever seen a burly older man driving the automobile, there are never any other travelers present, but when you glance towards the front seat area you can just make out the short cropped hair of a boy, who can't be much older than you, sitting in the front seat next to the man. The boy and you make brief eye contact, but nothing else occurs between the two of you and soon the Jalopy has carried on its way down the road and out of your sight.

"Tanny! It's your turn!" You suddenly hear Rudy call and you turn back to look at your little brother holding onto the end of the yellow rope swing, a huge smile on his face. You grin right back-he's always been such a good little brother.

"Thanks Rudolph." You say to him as you give him a pat on the head, knowing full well he hates both the touch to his head and the use of his full name. He frowns and you chuckle. You've always been able to joke and play around with Rudy, you're not harsh or cruel like Juan, and you enjoy his company. He can be pestering at times, but for the most part you and Rudy always tend to have fun.

You pat him on the shoulder.

"Thank you Rudy." You correct yourself and the smallest of the Lopez children looks up at you with a bright and gay grin. He nods furiously and offers you the rope, which you gladly take. You notice that David is wading around in the water off to the far right of the swing release point, and you don't see Juan anywhere in sight. Best to swing now and avoid him.

With your tongue poking slightly out from between your lips, you grasp the rope as tightly as you can before you take off as quickly as your tiny legs can go towards the water. Using the momentum of your run you lift yourself up off the ground and let the rope swing you out over the reservoir. When you reach a high point, where your body is parallel with the river's surface, you let go and enjoy the rush.

There is silence for a good ten seconds before you hit the water's perpetually calm surface with a giant splash and a bright smile covering your face. After diving as deep as you can into the water, you kick towards to surface and break the water's crisp calmness gulping in a deep breath of air. The air smells like fresh summer breeze with a hint of hay fields.

Everything is translucent and invigorating.

It is not a moment later that you hear a very distinctly girlish squeal, which also translates to something of a scream, and there is a splash not but a few yards away from you. You are positively surprised to make out a streak of blonde hair before the body disappears beneath the water's surface.

You blink because the figure you saw looked mighty familiar to you.

You swear you are seeing Brittany more than is probably beneficial for your wellbeing. It's surely not a proper thing to wholly imagine a white girl all the time, no matter the innocence of such imagining.

You don't register at first David and Juan shouting to you from different directions, David from his previous spot some fifteen yards away and Juan from the river shore a good ten away. You slant your eyes and perk up your ears in attempt to hear their voices. Their words are strained but you think you make out something that sounds strikingly similar to 'She's in the water'.

You look at them questioningly and finally David's voice booms over the distance.

"That blonde girl's in the water! It doesn't look like she can swim. Tanny you're closest to her!" He shouts and the words take a second to click but the instant they do you hastily propel your body into action diving under the surface in the direction you last saw blonde hair.

You open your eyes immediately once you are under the water and search the area in front of you in earnest. You see a figure, probably a good twelve feet or so away, unmoving. You kick your feet out behind you to near the figure, the closer you get the more clearly you can make out their features. Your heart starts beating in a frantic panic once you recognize the blonde locks and sun-kissed skin of the new girl from the house next to yours.

Brittany is completely immobile, her eyes have drifted closed and her arms and legs hang suspended uselessly in the water. There are small bubbles escaping her lips and rising to the surface but you suspect that is more the last of her breath being released from her body as opposed to her truly breathing.

You're own lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen to them but you kick harder until you reach the girl and swiftly take a firm grip around her waist and kick your feet below you swimming with all your might towards the water's surface.

The task of rising with Brittany is none too difficult as the water makes the girl weightless, but once you break the surface you realize that the blonde's extra height on you makes her a little heavier than your small body can successfully hold. You bob up and down in the water, trying to keep yourself and the girl in your arms in fresh air.

Desperately you kick out towards where you think the shore is, you can't see anything because your head keeps dipping below the surface, every time it happens, it feels as though the reservoir is threatening to drown you and Brittany in it's immensity.

After a few seconds of swimming, that feels more like hours, you suddenly feel a firm and solid grip around your arm and see David pull your head fully above the water and assist you in your pulling Brittany towards the shore. Once there, Juan and Rudy help you and David carry the blonde out.

"Wait." You say before they lay her down on the dirty ground. You look around and snatch up the dirty blanket you brought to dry yourself after your swimming adventures and you lay it down on the flat surface before helping David lower Brittany to the ground. She's still not moving, and it appears as though she is not breathing either.

"You're going to get us killed Santana." You hear Juan speak up from behind you but you ignore him. You don't know why he has to be such a bother sometimes, but you know that now is most certainly not a time you wish to deal with it.

"What do we do David? She's not breathing." You ask your older brother, fear flashing across your face. Your brown eyes lock with his similarly dark ones and you panic a little more at the look of uncertainty that pains his face.

"She turnin' blue!" You hear Rudy call from your side and you whip your eyes back to the blonde lying on the blanket on the ground. You notice that her lips, and the skin directly around them, are indeed turning a sickly color of blue. You've only ever seen that color upon the dead.

You drop to your knees next to Brittany and pass your eyes carefully over her body. You remember one time from your days in Puerto Rico where stories were told of resuscitation. David had been the one to ask your mother about the word but you had been sure to pay attention to her answer. Your mama told you about a breathing exercise that was supposed to mimic the function of a bellow, the item used most often to re inflate collapsed lungs.

Your mama explained the importance of knowing the exercise in case you or your brothers ever found yourselves in such a situation where someone stopped breathing.

You think you remember the process. You hope you remember it correctly.

Without explaining anything to your brothers, you lean down and place your ear above Brittany's lips listening or feeling for any breath that might be escaping her. Nothing. Taking a deep breath yourself, you turn so that your eyes are looking down at her face. It's so pale and fragile, and if you were not scared half to death of the girl before you dying you might like to take a second to admire her beauty.

You skip past that thought and lower your lips to herself. You didn't really know what to expect, you've never touched your lips to someone else's. You find that Brittany's are exceptionally soft, and you'd think that if they weren't turning blue they would probably be as warm as an afternoon ray of sunshine in the early month of May.

Juan and David gasp above you as they watch you fit your lips over Brittany's and blow out the air you were holding in your mouth. Most of it bounces back into your mouth or across your chin. You know your first attempt was unsuccessful. You think that perhaps you need to part the blonde's lips open so the oxygen can readily go into her body.

"Tanny, you need to turn her roll her to the side and back to get rid of any water that might be stuck in her lungs." David speaks to you from his place standing over the blonde and you nod. Gently you shift Brittany onto her side and then lay her back down on the blanket before endeavoring into the next part of your plan.

You gently place your hand on her jaw and use it to tug down slightly, overjoyed that her lips part open. You take another deep breath and lower your lips to the blonde's again; you can only imagine how quickly time is running out. You would estimate she has been suspended from breathing for at the least thirty seconds.

When your lips fit over hers again and you release the breath into her now open mouth your brother's gasp above you again.

"Tanny, her chest's moving!" Rudy calls from his spot rooted to the ground his hands tugging nervously on the material of his swim trousers.

"Do it again Santana." David encourages you and you quickly move to do so. The next breath you give her is more full and longer. You have your hand placed on her chest so you feel it rise when you breathe into her mouth. You think that maybe you're doing something right.

"I think you need to push on her stomach or something, isn't that what mama told us to do?" Juan speaks up and you're unexpectedly thrown off by the fear that laces his tone. David drops down on the other side of Brittany and nods to you to give her a breath again, indicating with his hands that he will press on her sternum area. David was always better at remembering the little things, like where to press and how hard.

You give Brittany another deep breathe and pull back to watch David apply pressure to the girl's chest area. There's a gurgling sound a few seconds later and a sudden intake of air that comes from the blonde's mouth as she gasps out and you watch her eyes snap open. The blonde's face contorts into one of discomfort and she turns her head to the side as a small amount of water spills from her mouth. She coughs and hacks next to you and you just wait to make sure that she is alright.

When the blonde turns to face you again, you notice her eyes have dulled a little but the color around her lips appears to be slowly returning.

"What happened?" She chokes out in a hoarse sounding version of her typically angelic voice. David stands back up and takes a step back, you are grateful he is not crowding the girl.

"You jumped in the reservoir and almost drowned." You explain to her and Brittany's eyes go wide.

"Don't you know how to swim!" Juan calls from next to you and you fix upon him an irritated gaze. The last thing you would want to be hearing the second you found out you almost died is someone chastising you for your obvious misdirection. It is comparable to kicking a horse when it's already down. Unpleasant and wholly unnecessary.

"Juan, Rudy let's head back to the house and let mama know we're okay. Tanny, you can stay with Brittany and follow us soon. Don't stay out too long, unless you want another lashing from papa." David suddenly speaks up and you are once again grateful for the perception your eldest brother preserves. You are quite terrified of what to do or say, but you think that you may be able to handle it if Juan is not there breathing fire down your neck.

You nod to David and watch them walk away. Juan shots you a callous glare before David pops him in the back of the head and he turns his attention to the road in front of him. You turn your focus back onto Brittany who now has her knees drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She is shivering and you feel sufficiently dreadful.

Jumping to your feet you run over to the last blanket, you had intended to keep for yourself, and rush back over to Brittany. Tentatively you offer it to her and she nods but does not move from her position. Wearily, you bend down to wrap it around her shoulders and shroud the rest of her body with the remaining material.

A few silent minutes go by and Brittany has stopped shivering. You briefly consider how you should have moved out of the shade, but you were far to preoccupied with making the blonde feel comfortable that the thought was omitted from your mind. You sit on the edge of the blanket, watching and waiting for Brittany to react.

"He was right you know." She says and you aren't expecting it, your eyes snap over to hers and she looks shamed and downtrodden. You cock your head to the side in curiousness.

"What do you mean?" You inquire. Brittany averts her eyes from you and you sense the impending topic is delicate and hard for her to reference.

"I can't swim." She says so quietly you almost don't hear it. You feel your lips twitch up into a smile. You've never known anyone who couldn't swim, but you find it endearing that the blonde admits this to you of all people.

"That's okay." You tell her and her eyes immediately lock on yours in surprise. You offer her a smile and shrug your shoulder and she returns the gesture and smile. You are smiling at each other for a few seconds when Brittany's ear perk up and she glances around her surroundings. Her eyes slant and her brow knits together before she speaks up.

"Is there somewhere warmer we can sit?" She asks and your smile grows at that. You don't think conversation has ever been this easy for you, and you aren't even nervous of participating in such a thing with a pale-skinned blonde girl. You don't find yourself tripping over your words, as is such a common occurrence for you other times.

Being around Brittany just feels easy and relaxing. You jump to your feet and hold your hand out to the girl still sitting on the ground. It's a bold move, but you've never been scared of being brave.

She takes your hand gently with a smile and you help tug her to her feet, it's awkward at first since your short stature doesn't allow you to execute much leverage but you manage to pull Brittany to her feet. You gather the blankets and start walking towards the Oak tree, glancing over your shoulder to encourage the blonde to follow you with a swift tilt of your head. She follows closely.

Once you are settled with your back against the tree, sunlight pouring down on you and rapidly heating your still wet clothes and damp skin, Brittany plops down next to you and leans into your side. You're comfortable.

"Why'd you jump into the river if you can't swim?" You find yourself asking, you didn't really have any thought like that planned out to inquire from her, it simply dropped out of your mouth. Brittany turns to look at your face, her blue eyes sparkle and shine in the sunlight. You swear they are brighter and more clear than any blue you've ever been witness to. You cannot fathom anything that is as mesmerizing.

With a shrug of her shoulder and a slight quirk of her lips Brittany replies.

"Because, I wanted to know you."

It's precise and straightforward but you still find yourself grinning back at her silly, drunk on the simplicity of her words.

* * *

More time than you think is probably suitable for your health has gone by but you are too engrossed in the feeling of Brittany leaning into your side with her head resting on your shoulder to even consider breaking the moment. When else are you ever going to have such a serene opportunity?

And who's to say that when you return to your house, Brittany will even be comfortable around you still. What if tomorrow she wakes up and realizes that the rules are there for a reason and you're not good enough for her?

That though scares you more than you care to contemplate.

"San?" You hear the word escape the blonde's lips in a gentle call. It sounds like a saccharine melody carried lost on the wind and searching for it's home. You'd bet your best suspenders that Brittany's voice is pleasant and harmonious enough to be heard in Church. Not that she could ever attend the one you and your family go to once a month. Rules and all.

You glance down at her and your breath starts. Her face is painted with soft sunlight and her eyes dazzle in the glint. Her smile is big, her teeth are white and glossy like the porcelain china your mama keeps high above the cabinets and out of little children's reach. You think that Brittany is the loveliest thing you have ever seen.

You blink for a few seconds and remember that she has said something to you. It sounded almost like your name only shorter. You tilt your head in question to her.

"Would it be alright if I called you San?" Brittany asks as sweet as honey.

It takes you a moment to comprehend what she is saying. She wants to call you by a shortened version of your name. It sounds wonderful coming from her lips, spoken in her honey splendid voice you believe you are swiftly taking a liking to.

You never thought about shortening your name and using it as a moniker. You've only ever known to give people names that related to them and their ever-present personalities. But you've never really used the original form or structure of their given name when constructing their monikers. The shorter version of your name seems natural and pleasing to the ear. You find yourself wondering why you never thought of this.

It's possible it shocks you still because there has never been anyone interested enough to think up such a thing for the likes of you. You realize both that Brittany is the smartest and most wonderful person you have ever met.

"No one's ever bothered to call me that." You state to the patiently waiting girl, you're not sure what else to say. Brittany smiles up at you, the back her head still leaning against your shoulder.

"I never thought to shorten names before my mama gave me a book a weeks time ago. It was about children who were not yet tall enough to be called by their full given name and so their parents shortened their names. I figure if I'm not tall enough yet either, maybe that's how it's supposed to be. You reckon that makes any sense?" Brittany explains to you and her words, though melodious to your ears in her returned angelic voice, do not much register fully in your mind.

You understand a little of what she says, but you don't grasp enough to offer her any words in return.

Ordinarily, your pride would disallow you from admitting your lack of knowledge on the subject Brittany is discussing, but the calm and welcoming nature the girl presents allows you the opportunity to feel comfortable. With Brittany, even at such a young age, you don't feel ashamed.

"I don't know how much I can offer you to reckon." You tell the girl with a slight shrug of your free shoulder. It's the truth and you desperately hope Brittany won't think different of you. The blonde cocks her own head in thought.

"Perhaps if you were to read the book too than you may be able to help me figure out what I don't know." She says easily to you and your face falls slightly.

You had hoped to avoid the topic of your inferiority- reading, and your inability to do so, you hate to know people would think even less of you than they already do if they were to find out that fact. Particularly Brittany in this blossoming new acquaintance, but you're pride's not enough to keep the information from the blonde.

"I can't read." You admit quietly, your head bowed in shame. Your eyes don't leave the patch of dirt they focused on a few seconds before your confession.

You never knew to be so publically ashamed of your illiteracy.

When you moved to America your first language was the native Spanish your parents spoke and you had been raised with. You and David were subjected to the occasional English when you were growing up but you had to learn a lot more once you began living in your new country.

Learning to speak a language you hadn't been raised speaking was difficult-learning to read it, especially so early in your lessons, was almost out of consideration.

You are aware that Brittany hasn't said anything to your revelation. You glance back over at her shyly and you find her looking at you with such a curious wonder it sets you back. You're expecting her to call you inferior for your flaws. Instead she smiles at you and shrugs.

The words that tumble from her mouth are nothing close to what you would have expected, you find that with Brittany that will happen to you a lot over your life.

"I couldn't read at first either." She says so simply and easily you're almost positive you imagined it. You stare at her for a second in awe, wondering if you're supposed to say something in response. You don't get the chance as Brittany speaks up again before you can.

"Say San?" She asks her voice still as sweet as honey. You look at her with an inquiring smile.

"Do you think we're gonna get in a lot of trouble for staying out so long?" She then asks and your heart drops to your stomach. You had completely forgot about that, your time with the blonde passing like it was but a distant memory from the past there but not all too much of a worry or bother.

Your eyes go wide and Brittany seems to catch on to your reaction. She sits up and looks down at you in waiting.

You scramble to your feet and gather up the blankets, thankful at the very least that you, Brittany and the cotton material all appear to be dry. You glance towards Brittany who is waiting patiently for you with her hands tucked behind her back at the edge of the dirt road that will lead you both home. You walk over to her and then you both fall in step with each other as you start your journey back towards town.

* * *

You've been walking straight for the past quarter hour or so judging by the angle of the sun still beating down on you from over head. Occasionally, you or Brittany have kicked random rocks out of your path and giggled at the direction they veer off. Every so often you glance over to the blonde and are surprised to find her looking at you with a smile on her face. The next time you glance over at her a cool breeze flows by her and blows her blonde hair out a little. She really does look like an angel.

"You know what I think?" Brittany suddenly asks and your eyes focus back on hers, having been momentarily distracted by her flowing golden locks. You smile back at her but shrug your shoulders, you don't know what she's thinking but you would sure like to know.

"You should learn to read. I know that some people say I'm not the swiftest current in the stream but I could teach you." Brittany speaks from your side and you glance over at her. Although the look that covers her face points to moderate unsureness, you are grateful that someone so wonderful would offer you of all people such a thing.

"I think you're mighty swell Britt. I'd like if you could teach me to read." You tell her and watch as a smile grows on her pretty face, her pearly white teeth gleaming in the bright summer sun. When she turns to meet your eyes you swear you see a flash behind her bright blue eyes. With a nod she reaches out her hand.

"I'll teach you how to read and you can teach me how to swim." She says with a smile and waggles her hand in your direction. You belief is entirely suspended at first-is she offering to hold your hand, out in the open? Then you realize she is wiggling the smallest of her fingers in the direction of your own hand.

You smile bashful and hesitantly stretch the pinky finger of your right hand out to meet hers. She doesn't hesitate to wrap her own long slender pale finger around your crooked tan one and your heart ascends a step in your chest at the action.

"I think that's a bright idea." You tell her. You walk the whole way back home your pinkie fit together with hers.

You couldn't be happier to be spending your afternoon beating the heat, so long as Brittany is there with you.

* * *

You and Brittany arrive back to your street, everything swell and right.

As you reach the block in which your humble homes reside, you stand with your pinkies still linked, each of you on your respective side of the yard facing each other. You think that this is quite a way to end the excitement of such a day. You have a brand new friend who is beautiful and wonderful in ways you can't even explain and she's willing to teach you to read.

You watch as Brittany's lips part as if she's to say something. She never does get the chance.

"Good lord child, where in God's name have you been!" An exceptionally masculine voice calls from somewhere behind Brittany and you look over her shoulder to see a mammoth of a man, wearing trousers with a white top, suspenders and a tweed flat cap storming towards you and the blonde.

Your eyes examine Brittany's reaction and you notice how her body tenses immediately the nearer the man gets to the two of you. You squeeze her pinkie tighter, you wish every day that there was more you could have done.

The man advances on you in three long strides and is retching Brittany's hand from your grip far quicker than you would ever think is acceptable, particularly around the presence of a girl.

Girls are delicate like Rockwood pottery and sweet like sugar. You know that girl's are not meant to be handled with anything less than the utmost care.

You are appalled by the situation that you witness. The man holds a firm and raw grip on Brittany's forearm, you can see the skin turning even whiter where fingertips press remorselessly into the skin. Brittany glances back at you with pleading eyes, you can see the bottoms of her eyes filling up with tears that threaten to spill as quick as storm rain in a hurricane.

You step forward, all thoughts of rules and proper etiquette escaping your mind, there's only enough room in your head right now for Brittany, and she is currently pleading for your help. Before you even have the chance to speak to the gruff man, whom you will later find out is Mr. Pierce, Brittany's father; there is a voice that calls from the front stoop of your own house.

"Santana! Get in this house right this instant!" You hear your mother call to you. You are thankful for a second that your mother's call interrupted the horror that was occurring within your direct witness, but your body pales at the thought of how it may continue once out of your sight.

You look to Brittany with regret and helplessness, you want to reach out and take her in your arms and tell her that everything is alright and she won't have to suffer tonight.

But you can't, for more reasons than the obvious that this man would probably throw you to the ground and squash you as though you were an insignificant bug beneath his feet the second you even made an attempt. For reasons that are veiled under an array of words and phrases and statements that someone somewhere decided to christen as rules for you to abide by.

You don't even get the chance to tell Brittany goodbye and thank her for the wonderful day you enjoyed with her. She is drug off towards her own house, her eyes lingering on you for the entirety of the short jaunt to the front porch.

The last thing you see is pained blue eyes as she is ushered, forcefully, through the front door. The man makes not even a second glance to you before he is callously slamming the door behind him.

You stand frozen for what would seem a trialing period of time but in essence is less than a few minutes before you recognize the angered call of your mother once again. If her tone the first time did not spur you into action, the incensed clip of her voice the second time around surely does the trick.

You sprint as quickly as your little legs will carry you to your porch and ascend the steps before your mother can fix you with a proper lashing. You are more than thankful that your papa is not home at that time.

* * *

It is not until much later in the evening, after supper and chores and nightly prayers have been accomplished and concluded, that you lie in your bed wide awake. The thoughts that pass through your mind concern only Brittany and your immersed unease for your new friend's wellbeing.

You know how it is such to receive the discipline of a parent, you have been unfortunate to the occurrence on more than one occasion in your life, but you have never seen such fury in either of your parents eyes during the lashings as you perceived in the eyes of the man who detained Brittany. You're nightly prayers included many to be sent in her name in hope of her sufficient welfare.

You are about to drift of to restless sleep when you hear a tiny sound. You rise from your bed and walk silent to Rudy's side, your first assumption being that he has been woken by a nightmare and desires comfort. It perplexes you when you find your little brother sleeping soundly in his bed. You hear the sound again. This time the noise seems similar to a voice.

"San." You think it calls. Your eyes are quite hastily wide-awake as your mind distinguishes who the voice that would be calling you by a shortened version of your name may be. You make haste to the area of your room that plays host to your window. The window that has never been all that interesting to you, having nothing to observe from it except the vacant house across the way, is now most enticing.

When you reach your window, which is slightly cracked open, you must tug exceedingly hard at the pane in order to slide the glass panel up from its solid wood base and permit you access to the views apparent beyond it. When you look across the way to the once vacant house that stands vacant no more, you find the picturesque sight of Brittany glancing towards you from her own window.

Despite the nature of the situation and how improper you know the action would be, there is nothing more you would rather do.

Because Brittany is not only standing at her window looking back at you but also beckoning you to come to her.

* * *

**Oh oh 'Come to my Window'...you know where this is going :) Thanks for reading! Y'all are awesome!**

**-A**


	3. 3: Come to my Window

**Trigger Warning: References to abuse. **

_**Fact: Five million gallons of ice cream were being produced in the United States in 1899, thirty million gallons in 1909, and 150 million gallons by 1919. Common flavors included vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and mint. **_

* * *

_**Chapter 3: Come to My Window**_

_**July 10, 1917**_

Brittany hadn't fully considered the extent or bravado of her actions when she called out from her window across the way to the slightly cracked open one where she knew her new acquaintance resided beyond.

Nor did Brittany contemplate the repercussions her father would surely bare down on her if he were to discover her activities, and the manner in which she completed them.

It's was entirely improper for a girl of Brittany's age to be up at such an hour, and was even more amiss to be calling out into the night from her window, regardless of her innocent motives.

All Brittany knew and could think of in that moment after having suffered the fury and rage of her father in the form of a harsh and firm slap across her cheek, which had left an ugly red marked welt and an even uglier feeling in her gut, was the comfort being around Santana brought.

With her brother Ryder absent for the evening accompanying their mother to their grandparents house down the road, Brittany knew that the tan skinned girl was her best option in making the pain and hurt decease.

Santana was her only option for comfort and relief from fear.

Brittany called out through her window without a second thought, enjoying the way the shorter girl's name fell from her lips and traveled with purpose across the vacant space between their respective houses. It took a moment for Santana to appear at her own window, but at the precise moment the Latina appeared, Brittany's face lit with relief and joy.

Brittany was soon, without any foresight to the consequences of her actions, beaconing Santana to come to her window.

The other girl had looked at her curiously. Brittany thinks that Santana may have also briefly frowned at her before she disappeared from the view of her window.

The blonde's heart dropped in despair. She had such high hopes that the tan girl, whose skin she wonderfully admired compared to the paleness of her own, would be there for her.

With a heavy heart, Brittany began to turn from her window as a shadow of depression begins to make its presence to cower over her but then a sound from across the way draws her back to her window.

"Britt." Can be heard radiating from Santana's window in a hushed murmur and when Brittany looks beyond her side of the distance, she sees the smaller girl in her position back at her window.

This time there appears to be another item by her side.

Brittany leans out of her window to hear Santana's words better.

"I'm gonna stretch this across, grab the end and hold on." Santana calls across the way and Brittany nods, not yet understanding the other girl's meaning.

A second later, Brittany observes a thick board being pushed out of Santana's window and moving in the direction of her own. When the wooden plank reaches Brittany, she grabs it and fits it securely on her windowpane glancing back to see what Santana's plans are now. Her eyes go wide as she discovers the girl climbing out of her window and fitting her bottom onto the plank.

Brittany watches in awe as Santana takes a deep breath and then slowly begins to make her journey across the plank and away from her own house. When Santana reaches Brittany's window she shimmies inside and drops quietly to the ground turning towards the blonde with a bright smile stretching across her face.

Brittany is to the girl and wrapping her in an embrace before Santana can utter a word. But the shorter girl wastes no time in holding Brittany close, and runs her comforting hands up and down the girl's back.

* * *

You never knew an embrace could feel so wonderful and alight your soul as well as the one you find yourself wrapped up in with Brittany does.

Brittany is everything good and everything beautiful and everything right in this world. She possesses an all-encompassing warmth that radiates from her and surrounds you like the early morning dawn as it shines through your window and spreads heat through your entire room.

Brittany spreads her warmth through your whole body. You can feel it from your head to your toes.

She ignites your heart and invokes overwhelming feelings of comfort and ease. Her skin feels soft like satin against your own skin as she tucks her face into the crook of your neck.

You wish not to pull back even though you know that it is inevitable. You want to hold Brittany as you are in this moment, every second of the day for the rest of your life.

"Thank you." You hear the blonde murmur into your neck, her breath is hot against the skin and it causes tingles and gooseflesh to run the length of your neck and down the back of your spine. You swallow what feels like an exceptionally large lump in your throat before managing to croak out a weak 'Of course' in reply.

You hope that Brittany knows you are the one who is thankful.

She is the first to pull back, reluctant in her progress and you are not making it any easier for her. When she has pulled back far enough, but remains in your embrace, you gaze upon the soft delicate features of her face and you almost gasp at what you find.

There across the left hand side of Brittany's vibrantly and usually flawlessly fair skinned cheek is a nasty and swiftly darkening mark that spreads over and around the endearingly placed freckles that swathe her skin.

The mark, which has taken the shape of a palm print, is a mixture of ugly purple and deep blue and reminds you of the pedals of the wilting tall purple bellflowers that are so common in the summer gardens around your neighborhood.

You cannot recall ever having seen such a mark before, but you can surely imagine what it was caused by.

On instinct your hand reaches up to Brittany's cheek. She flinches briefly at the action and your heart falls.

You never want her to fear you.

You are ever careful as your fingertips just graze the bruised skin, and you watch as Brittany closes her eyes in tensed apprehension. It's as though she suspects you will add to the mark or choose to bring more pain to her.

As if there was ever a time you could do that in your life. You could never, in the very sense of the word, _never _ever hurt Brittany. Instead you find yourself leaning towards her face and before you are even aware of your actions, you are pressing your lips to the bruised skin in a soft, comforting manner.

Your heart's rhythm halts as you consider the improperness of your actions and how many rules you have managed to break. You're papa would be furious; your mother would faint at the knowledge of such a thing.

Now you are quickly terrified of what Brittany will think of the whole thing.

As you pull back from the small kiss, you are pleasantly rewarded with a splendidly beautiful sight and you know you haven't transgressed too far in your actions. You see the line of Brittany's lips curve into a grateful smile.

You are helpless to prevent the reaction of a smile that tugs across your own lips.

Like the rain that follows the storm cloud, the cause and effect nature that exists between you and Brittany is definite and inevitable.

Brittany is light. She is like the Sabbath morning at your neighborhood church, full of grace and wholly benevolent, where you remain something much less graceful and more darkly inclined, as if a shadow that steals slowly through the night.

You worry that your darkness will overshadow Brittany. As it turns out, however, when you are by Brittany's side the darkness fades to grey and you appear radiant if only for those moments.

Brittany makes no effort to talk about the mark upon her cheek, and you do not endeavor to obtain any such thing that resembles an explanation. When Brittany is ready, you have every faith that she will inform you of anything she so wishes.

She instead leans into your embrace and although taller in stature than yourself, she tucks her face into the crook of your neck and lays the remainder of her head on your shoulder.

She breathes softly. She breathes easy.

You are filled with content at the situation, and you shall make no move to change it.

You are unaware of the time that passes, it bothers you not, though you have a strong suspicion that Brittany is becoming increasingly tired in the stance she holds and you find yourself also becoming weary.

As Brittany's stance wavers in your hold, you feel it is time to amend the position you have maintained thus far.

"Britt?" You whisper gently into the night, finding that the moonlight that streams in through Brittany's window illuminates the shadows of her room enough for you to distinguish her bed area. You determine to set your course towards the mattress that rests upon a low metal platform bed.

Brittany mumbles into your neck at your words but tries not to move at all. The deep breath she releases from her nose tickles over your collarbone so you know she is aware of you and what you are saying.

"I'm gonna move us towards the bed." You tell her as your voice lingers yet in a small whisper.

You feel the brush of Brittany's nose graze across your neck as she nods at your statement. Again, she makes no attempt to move.

Somehow, against what you consider tremendous odds, you shuffle back to Brittany's bed and blindly sit on the edge. As Brittany is seemingly attached to your body, she moves with you and after a small amount of maneuvering, you shift on top of the bed and rest your back against the faded white paint on the metal that acts as a headboard.

Brittany has neglected to make any noise beyond a few silent breathes and a mumbling sound. You coax her into shifting her position in your arms, and throw back the blanket that rests on top of her bed, so that she can lay curled up in your lap. She instantly returns her head to your shoulder and her nose again grazes the sensitive skin at your neck.

You breathe in deeply, inhaling all that is Brittany that surrounds you. Hesitantly, you tilt your head down and place the softest of kisses on the crown of blonde hair. You only wish to comfort the girl in your arms for the remainder of the evening.

You listen to Brittany's breathing as is progressively slows until you are positive that sleep has successfully and completely taken hold of her. You are exhausted from the minor occurrence you encountered earlier and as such you cannot begin to fathom how tired Brittany must be.

You hold her tighter. You don't think you'll ever be able to let go now.

You cannot recall when you finally and blissfully drift off to sleep, but your new friend, and the girl you will forever protect, remains peacefully and wonderfully asleep in your arms.

* * *

There's a pitter-patter on the rooftop that lets you know that the summer rain has made its appearance. Next to the smell of autumn, the rain that falls in light drizzle's during the still humid summer nights are one of your favorite things in life.

At least, it used to be.

That was before you discovered the feeling of holding Brittany in your arms. You are quite sure there isn't a single thing, feeling or not, that can compare to it.

She rests, so peaceful with her soft wonderful smile fit across her face.

She appears so delicate in your small arms, curled up into your body with her head on your chest, almost as if she were a baby bird whose wing was injured and you had to nurse back to health. She's not a bird though, but you think if she did have wings they would be as white, pure and beautiful as those of a dove.

Translucent in such a quest to distribute peace and beauty to the entire world. If anyone could do such a thing, Brittany would be the one to do it.

Quite fitting for a girl of such innocence and beauty.

"Hmm San…" You hear Brittany mumble. Your eyes steal a look downwards to a golden head of hair and you tilt your perception to see if Brittany really is still asleep. You find that she is.

There is a look of anxious distress creased across her forehead; the lines appear similar to the ones that cover your mother's brow when she frets about you or your brothers.

She's worried about something. You simply squeeze her closer and embrace her with as much comfort and tranquility as you can.

"It's okay Britt, I'll always be here for you." You whisper into the night, with the fleeting notion that the drizzling rain is the only witness to your uttered words. Brittany breathes in deeply and exhales in time; you feel her heart rate slow to a steady beat as it thumps against her ribcage in serenity and contentment.

You find that your own heartbeat quickly slows to match it. You fall asleep with your hearts beating in harmony with one another.

You next awake to the sound of a robin's call and soft rays of light filtering in through the still open window. The sun is not yet at it's most scorching at this hour, which you suspect to be terribly early in the dawn.

Brittany remains asleep in your arms, her cheek now resting against where your heart beats steady and strong.

You would think it possessed a mind of its own with the way it thumps out its own unique rhythm, as though it beats merely for the blonde you hold so tenderly and close.

You take the brief reprieve from action you have been granted to glance around the space that Brittany now so commonly occupies. If you weren't aware of the notion that the blonde was such an optimistically bright person, you are certain you could deduce such a thing based solely on the items within the area and the general feel of the room.

The walls are splashed with a yellow not dissimilar to the color that coats the exterior of the house, barring that the paint within the room is fresh and clean and new. It's bright like the sun the glints across the water at the reservoir and buoyant like the blonde that rests in your arms.

The floor of Brittany's room is littered with miscellaneous trinkets as well as heaps and piles of clothes.

There are more dresses and shoes and hats than you believe you have ever seen in your life. There are also more stuffed ducks, toy horses, and little red headed dolls than you ever knew existed.

Toys, much like sweets, are a luxury in your household. It was always your parent's strong conviction that activities that limited you to the confinements of indoors were useless and trivial.

You, and your brother's, were expected to entertain yourselves and do so out doors _without_ causing trouble.

You are far keener to kicking a ball around, racing the neighborhood kids, or indulging in the sport of baseball. You very much enjoy that particular game both because you are allowed to play and you get to swing a bat at a ball as hard as you can and watch it soar off into the distance.

Sometimes never to be found again.

Those are the kinds of things you enjoy doing. You'd never wanted anything more; you'd never really known to have wanted anything else. You had plenty of entertainment. Yet the presence of such trivial objects scattered around Brittany's room make you deftly consider just how vastly different of a life she lives from you.

It also makes you wonder how terribly lonely the girl is.

Brittany stirs in your arms and shifts in such a way her uninjured cheek presses lightly into the area on your chest right above the area your heart beats beneath the cotton material that covers your tan skin.

The shift that Brittany participates in elicits a response from you in the form of your heart rate picking up pace. You're not positive if it is because of the blonde's proximity to your beating organ or more so the fact she can rest so comfortably in your arms.

You think that the latter is more likely to produce such an increase in your heart's rhythm. Just the thought that Brittany feels subconsciously safe in your arms makes your heart swell with pride and adoration.

"Eres tan linda, tan hechicera." You whisper, remembering a line from a lullaby that your mama sang to you as a child. Though you know the rest of the lullaby is for the moon, you feel that it suits Brittany and the way she enchants you very well.

You don't realize at first that the soft breathing sound that Brittany had been making only moments ago is no longer escaping her. Only when you glance down towards where her head rests do you see curious blue eyes focused up at you.

Brittany is staring into your eyes from her position in your arms with a soft smile on her face that hints at the notion that she probably heard what you just whispered into the silent room.

You are too young to be properly embarrassed by her staring but you do recognize the reality that you are breaking a fair amount of rules and Brittany doesn't seem to care one bit about that.

Suddenly she's stretching her long sun-kissed slender arms above her head and releasing a tired but content yawn.

"I thought I had only dreamt that you were here." She tells you, and for a second you don't release it's you that Brittany is actually speaking to. You find that terribly silly, because who else would she be speaking to at such a time after all?

"Are you alright?" You wonder as your brow creases in concern. You know she wasn't about to talk about anything last night, and that is still swell in your mind, but you want her to know that she can if she needs to.

Beyond that, it is immensely difficult to ignore the angry looking bruise that covers most of Brittany's cheek.

Brittany nods in response to your question, seemingly ignoring any negative proceedings that may have transpired last night in the time you spent apart from each other.

"I am very well, thank you." She says properly and you giggle softly at having being addressed in such a manner.

Brittany is like a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be put together, there are so many pieces that don't appear as though they would fit together and match but after some deep examination you find that they fit perfectly and in turn complement each other splendidly.

You are both silent for a few moments, not in an uncomfortable way but more you as if you are both trying really hard to hear the other's thoughts. It becomes a welcome game, seeing as how Brittany has not removed herself from your arms and you are beyond comforted by her just being there.

When Brittany twists a little in your arms you are suddenly wondering if maybe she wants to get up. Perhaps the proximity is becoming too much for her.

"Shall I leave you to yourself now?" You ask in complete curiosity barely getting the last word out before Brittany is throwing her arms around your neck in a fierce grip, her face buries into the crook of your neck again.

"Please don't go." She begs and your eyes go wide. You quickly wrap your own arms around her in comfort.

"Alright, I shant go anywhere without you." You tell her truthfully and feel her relax slightly, but her grip remains around your neck and her nose is brushing across your collarbone. You feel moisture coat an area on your neck where you know Brittany's eye is pressed against.

You feel an overwhelming need to pull Brittany as close to you as possible and never let her go.

"It'll be alright Britt."

She nods into your neck and hiccups through a small sob.

She relaxes enough that you think she may be drifting back to sleep and you are suddenly aware of a loud banging noise that appears to be filtering into Brittany's room from the thin floorboards that cover her floor.

You suspect the noise is being produced in the dining or kitchen area of the house.

Brittany immediately tenses in your arms again the moment she renders the sound. You wish to ask her what it is, and why it frightens her so but there is another sound that you hear before you have the chance to ask.

It's muffled but distinctly appears to be a man's voice. You cannot make out the words that are being said but you understand that they are filled with anger and border on alarming, particularly to you but especially to Brittany.

You glance down at the blonde in your arms to find she has her eyes squeezed shut and her lips, pulled into a thin line, are trembling.

"Britt?" You question and her eyes snap open and quickly find yours.

She looks terrified and you know you have to help her.

"We can go to my house." You tell her and she nods frantically, scrambling from your lap as quick as she can and moving towards her window. You follow as hastily as you can manage, the muffled voice growing louder and angrier by the second.

You don't speak as you help Brittany situate herself out of her window and onto the wooden plank that still rests between her window and yours. You quickly climb up onto the plank right behind her and guide her in shimmying across the wood.

She reaches your window and you climb around her and swing into it before her then turn to take her hands in yours and ease her to your bedroom floor.

Without a second thought you tug at the wooden plank until it slides fully back into your side of the window and briefly glance the sight of Brittany's bedroom door swinging open before the blonde's hand is tugging on yours and pulling you to sit next to her on the ground just inside your window.

You watch Brittany, her grip on your hand tightening and her eyes clenching closed, as the man's voice yells and curses across the way in her bedroom. It only lasts a few brief moments but Brittany is still shaking when it's over.

Swinging your arm that is not attached to her hand over her shoulder you pull her into your side and place a delicate kiss to her temple. It comes out of the instinctive need to keep her safe and make her comfortable. Brittany calms and you feel as though you have succeeded, at least at present.

After taking a deep breath Brittany opens her eyes and turns them your way.

"My papa gets really angry sometimes when he drinks. He'll be better by the evening." She tells you.

You may only be six, or seven as of today, but you know that what Brittany just told you about her papa, is something that no child should ever have to witness. You nod to her but the look on your face is nothing near accepting.

You care too much for Brittany to let her suffer that.

"You can stay here as long as it pleases you, whenever you want. I'll be here Britt." You tell her with conviction, sure as the day you were born. She smiles gratefully at you and nods her understanding. You know there is nothing else that needs to be said on the matter.

"What shall we do to-day San?" Brittany inquires as if nothing is amiss, and you are grateful for the ease and change of subject. Yet, you know not what you should do to-day.

It will be hard enough keeping the knowledge that such an elegantly lovely white girl resides in your bedroom from your mother, let alone your brothers, that you cannot even begin to fathom how you might get away with spending time with Brittany outside of the confinement, and privacy, of your bedroom.

You lift your shoulder in a noncommittal manner.

"Dun know."

A smile stretches across Brittany's face at your words. You don't know what might be so humorous, but you are pleasantly elated to see such a look from her.

"What is to-day?" She asks. You know that she's not asking you specifically about the day, more or less she is curious as to what day of the week it is, but you can nonetheless prevent yourself from informing her of the importance the day holds to you.

"It's my birthday."

Brittany's lips quirk into an even larger smile and her eyes brighten just a little bit more. You vow they look like the tropical waters you were so familiar with back in Puerto Rico. Her eyes are dazzling and the little flecks of silver that line the blue remind you of the small silver baitfish that used to tickle your toes when you, David and Juan would go swimming in the ocean waters.

"How old are you?"

The question throws you off at first. You cannot recall a time when you have ever had to think about the answer to such a question. All you know about birthdays is that once a year they happen and it means your get older.

You don't always necessarily feel or look older, but according to the wisdom displayed by the ever-knowledgeable David, you just _are _older.

You're free shoulder lifts in another shrug. You think exceptionally hard about what David told you last year around this time. You hold your hands up and examine your fingers before adjusting them and holding them up in front of Brittany's face.

"My brother David said I was this many last time."

Brittany studies your hands for a long moment before her tongue pokes out of her mouth.

"One, two, three, four, five, six…" She points at each finger as she speaks, and it is mesmerizingly fascinating to you. Her face is scrunched up in thought and her eyes are squinted, she appears adorable.

"So you are seven years of age to-day!" She exclaims as she flicks at the last finger you are holding up.

Judging by the enthusiasm that radiates from the blonde, you would make a guess that being that age is something important or worthwhile. To you, however, the notion that you are 'seven years of age' is nothing different from 'you are older'.

You have never completely understood numbers or anything beyond their fundamental meaning and thus find it fascinating that Brittany understands them.

You are about to enlighten Brittany of this when another voice enters the secluded conversation you had found yourself in.

"Tanny?"

It's Rudy's voice and you curse your misfortune and carelessness in forgetting that your room was shared with another.

Brittany's bright blue eyes turn and are examining your profile, no doubt she is as curious to the voice as Rudy will be upon discovering there is a pretty white girl occupying his bedroom.

"That's my brother Rudy." You tell Brittany as quietly as possible and enjoy the way she bounces in delight at your disposed information.

You make to get up from your comfortable seat and turn to assist in lifting Brittany to her feet. When you turn towards the corner of the small room that plays host to Rudy's bed you see your smaller, younger brother sitting up awake but groggy in his bed. His hair is a disheveled mess atop his head and his eyes are still droopy but when he gathers the figure that stands behind you his eyes suddenly widen in alertness.

"Rudy, this is Brittany." You whisper as calmly as possible. His tan mouth gaps as if unhinged from his very jaw. You notice Brittany is moving around behind you and in a second she is standing by your side and shyly waving at your youngest brother.

Rudy's eyes are flitting dangerously fast from you to Brittany and back, the look on his face becoming more and more panicked as the seconds tick by.

In an effort to prevent any type of outburst you turn to Brittany and hold your pinkie out to her. She smiles gratefully and doesn't hesitate to links hers with yours.

You lead your new friend to the side of Rudy's bed.

"It's okay Rudy, Brittany is exceptionally kind and I think you'll like her very much."

Rudy studies the blonde girl that stands by your side before his eyes focus, skeptically, back on you.

"Do mama and papa know?"

You shake your head slowly in the negative.

"She needs somewhere to stay and she is my very good friend. Can you keep that secret for now?" You ask the young boy, appealing to his prideful side. If Rudy knows something that no one else is keen on, he is more likely to keep it to himself.

He furiously nods his little head and you smile relieved. You give him a one armed hug and are delighted, but not surprised, as you watch Brittany do the same. You turn back to her and are about to inquire what it is she'd like to do for the remainder of the day when she opens her mouth and speaks first.

"We should go and celebrate your birthday." Brittany tells you as matter of fact as you've ever heard. You are unsure of this birthday and celebration talk she suggests but are observant enough to recognize that it indicates, in the least, that she wants to spend more than a few hours with you and she insists on having fun while doing so.

You nod to her, lacking any other response. Brittany bounces on the spot next to you and leans forward placing an unexpected kiss to your cheek. You feel that side of your face heat instantly and hear the tiny muffled giggle of your youngest brother.

You're fixing to set a glare upon Rudy when the enchanting sound of Brittany's giggle fills your ears and you turn, the incident with Rudy forgotten, to smile upon her and soak up her splendor.

You'd listen to that noise all day if you had the opportunity.

"What would you care to do Britt?" You find yourself asking, not missing the way that your finger remains locked with hers. She smiles gratefully at you and twists back and forth candidly as if considering your question long as the day and intense as a hurricane.

"I think you should have ice cream!" She exclaims and you have the slightest inclination to suspect that she is more than willing to share any ice cream that you may get. You smile at her and nod.

"Alright then, let's get ice cream."

You tell a pouting Rudy that he can perhaps accompany you next time, he has chores and all that he must complete, before you and Brittany make your departure down the creaky old stairs of your house and go on your way to the door that will lead you to the sidewalk outside which will bring you into town.

* * *

"Santana Eva, lord child what do you think you're doing?"

Your eyes go wide upon hearing the sound of your mama's voice. You affirm that she mentioned to you last night before prayers that she would be off to the town market for supper gatherings for this evening the majority of the day.

You feel Brittany bump into you from behind. She must not have realized you'd stopped. You are also assuming she doesn't immediately see your mama standing directly in front of you with her hands fitted on her hips.

You suspect that your mama sees Brittany however, if the surprised and shocked look that covers her face is any indication.

"Sant…" Is all she manages to say before Brittany is skipping around to your side and extending her hand towards the imposing Latina woman in front of you.

"Hello. I'm Brittany."

You're about as sure as the milk man's delivery, which is pretty sure around these parts, that your mama may be suffering cardiac arrest.

"Mama," You say calmly stepping forward and giving Brittany an apologetic look, "This is Brittany. She lives next door and her papa was causing a bit of a ruckus. I invited her to spend the day with me and all seeing as how it's my birthday. Mama I'll never ask for anything else." You beg while you make your greatest attempt at evoking your most pleading pout and wayward eyes.

Your mama remains motionless and silent for a very long time. You think that perhaps the world has gone around a time or two by the time your mama finally supplies you with an answer.

"You both be back here by supper you hear, and don't go gettin' into any trouble. If you're papa finds you've been up to less good Santana, you will surely never celebrate another birthday properly again you hear?"

You are beyond grateful, you nod to show your appreciation and dash to your mama throwing your arms around her, the best you can, and giving her a sufficiently tight hug. It's not long after that you feel Brittany's arms squeeze partly around your body and you notice she is hugging the woman she doesn't know just as tight as you.

You laugh, your mama laughs too.

"You are precious child. Now get before I change my mind." Your mama tells you and you grin at her before turning to Brittany and breaking out in an even larger grin. Your blonde friend matches it and reaches out for your hand. You don't hesitate to take it.

You are at the door about to exit when your mama calls out to you both.

"Mija, do you have the coin for your outing?"

Your face flushes in embarrassment and your heart drops at the realization that you are rather left wanting any type of coin. You know that in itself will not get either of you or Brittany or your intended exploits anywhere.

You shake your head sadly in the negative.

"Here," You hear your mama say and turn to watch her fetching her coin purse and procuring the shiniest nickel from it you think you've ever set eyes on. You could buy a sensible amount of ice cream with a nickel.

Two dips cost about a nickel, and that is plenty for you and Brittany.

"Happy birthday my beautiful child." Your mama then tells you as she places the coin in your bare outstretched hand and closes your fingers around it. She leans down and gives you a kiss on your forehead before turning to Brittany.

"It was very nice to meet you Brittany. I am Camilla Lopez, Santana's mother and so long as you are acquainted with my daughter you are welcome in my home."

You're heart swells with pride and love at your mama's excepting and beautiful words. Brittany smiles graciously and nods with a tiny smile. Your mama shoos you both out of the house in the next moment with a reminder to return before sunset and not to spoil your appetites.

* * *

You've discovered that ice cream with Brittany is the most pleasing pastime you have endeavored upon thus far in your short seven years of life.

(Besides the pastime of spending time with Brittany in general.)

Not only is it wholly enjoyable but it is also delightfully entertaining.

You feel as though the amount of laughter you released today while in Brittany's presence would be enough to fill the entire space of the factories you've heard your papa talk about working in.

The delighted atmosphere you find yourself in while walking down the dusty path back to your house, Brittany's pinkie linked with your own, quickly dissolves when you realize that in a few short moments, your blonde friend will have to return to unknown dealings within her own house.

Your heart constricts painfully and starts thudding against your ribcage like a captive birds panic to escape from the confines of it's cage. Brittany immediately notices the change in your demeanor, squeezing your pinkie just a little tighter.

You glance at her apologetically and she looks back at you grateful but sad.

It's as if she knows that you would do anything for her, but you only really have the capacity to do so much at the moment.

Someday you _will_ do more. Even if it's with your last dying breathe.

"It's okay San, I…I'll be alright." Brittany tells you, her voice cracks and you can make out the edge of fear that laces her tone. She sounds small as though her being is inconsequential and wholly insignificant.

You never want her to feel like that, because to you Brittany is everything. She's the sun shining in the sky and the air you breath. You've only known her fully for a day, but you don't believe your thoughts are premature or hasty.

Brittany is significantly special to you.

"Britt, would you like to come to mine for supper?" You as her hoping that she will accept your offer and you will have a few more hours with her at least. She turns to you with a sad but soft smile, the way her blue eyes dance over your face makes you think that she is thinking much more than she is intending on saying.

"I would very much enjoy that San," She starts and then her shoulders slump, "But I think I should make my way home. My mother and brother have returned and are probably curious as to my whereabouts." She tells you.

You think you know she's saying more. You also think she knows you know.

You squeeze her pinkie again before boldly tugging her into your small body and wrapping your arms around her waist. She gasps into your shoulder at the unexpected, and swift, change in position but is quickly melting into your embrace and wrapping her own arms over your shoulders and around your neck.

"I'll be at my window as soon as I'm able." You tell her and feel her nod into your shoulder where her cheek rests. "Thanks Brittany. I have had a most splendid birthday."

She leans back at those words a genuine smile covering her face. She scrunches her nose up at you and you giggle before she places another kiss to your cheek, as if as normal as the seasons changing, and reluctantly begins to back away from you.

Your pinkies remain linked until she has stretched too far away. She doesn't take her eyes off of you until she's through her front door.

You sigh and walk solemnly to your own house, you wish for the night to pass quickly so perhaps you will see Brittany through her window again.

* * *

Your papa, who inquires about your day and then pulls you to the side to give you a hug and wish you happy birthday, deters you from returning to your bedroom directly after supper. You'd almost forgotten it was such a day as your mind was so filled up with thoughts of Brittany.

You smile and present him with gratitude.

"Gracias papa." You tell him and place a loving kiss on his cheek before being allowed to return to your bedroom. You rush up the stairs faster than you ever have before and burst through your bedroom door immediately glancing towards your window and what lies beyond.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see Brittany sitting on the ledge of her own window, one leg dangling out of the house and swinging back and forth. She has one of those red headed dolls in her hands and appears to be talking to it. You make your way over to your window.

"Britt." You call across softly, not wanting to startle the girl out of her window. You wish not to see her tumble to the ground below. Brittany jerks slightly at the sound of your voice but remains on the ledge, she turns her gaze over to you and a smile crosses her face.

You are quick to shift the wooden plank across to her window and are sliding over it and to Brittany's side before she can even call a 'Hello' back to you. Once you drop down safely into her bedroom you turn and flash her a triumphant smile.

It's not a terrible amount of toil to climb the distance from your window to hers but you find yourself getting more and more prideful each time you do it.

Brittany beams back at you and is quick to wrap her arms around you and tug you into an embrace that's reminiscent of the evening before.

You finally breathe easy and normal again like you haven't since the moment you let go of her hand earlier. You take a deep calming breath of the air surrounding Brittany and the sweet aroma that lingers on her skin.

She smells like summer rain, sunlight, and ice cream all rolled into one.

"I'm so glad you came." She murmurs into your neck.

"I'll always be here Britt. Are you alright?"

She nods but squeezes you tighter.

After a few minutes you suggest getting comfortable and situated in her bed. Almost immediately she suggests that you both stay at your house tonight. She claims she'd like to because she hasn't yet but you suspect it's something else.

Still, you have no quarrels with her sleeping in your bed with you.

It may be smaller but that will just mean you'll have to sleep closer.

You start to head back to your bedroom through the window with Brittany right behind you, but she has to pause and turn back and you watch as she ruffles through items strewn around her bedroom.

It's still as messy and brimming, with trivial things you know nothing about, as it was this morning. You wonder how she finds anything. She seems satisfied when she procures an item shaped like a book and follows you the rest of the way to your bedroom.

You help her down and she skips to your bed and plops down upon it as you drag the plank back to your side.

When you are finally situated in your bed, Brittany waits for you and then curls up into your lap and rests her head on your shoulder. It is then that you notice the book in her hands.

On the cover is drawn a boy standing on a rock, there are two men sitting on the ground by his feet. You don't recognize either of the figures and you certainly cannot make out any of the words that grace the cover.

You glance to Brittany in curiosity and she simply smiles up at you.

"This is one of my most favorite books. I shall read it to you and if you like it we can read it again to-morrow. I will teach you to read." Brittany tells you and you smile down at her and wrap your arms around her waist sinking into a comfortable position.

When Brittany is comfortable, and she ascertains that you are as well, she begins.

"All children except for one grow up…"

* * *

**My apologies on the delay of this, I wanted to get it right :) Thank you so much for reading!**

**I must say that the review shyvonne left was sincerely humbling. To even be mentioned in the same sentence as such a story like The Knife Throwers Daughter is exceptionally flattering. I can only hope to write a story 1/16 as good as the one JJ presents to us. So thank you very much!**

**Thank you all for your kind words and alerts/favorites, this story is for you!**

**Side note, the Spanish Santana spoke: "Eres tan linda, tan hechicera." is from an old Puerto Rican lullaby called Moon. **

******-A**


	4. 4: Building My Life Around You

Just to be safe there are mentions of Brittany's abusive dad in this chapter, but no abuse.

**Fact: ****The Turtle Dove (or Mourning Dove as it is known in the United States) is monogamous and forms strong pair bonds, often mating for life.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Building My Life Around You**

_**May 14**__**th**__**, 1921**_

There are often so many things in a young child's life with which are taken for granted or otherwise forgotten.

It is not as though the child ever intends to disregard the things they are taught, the advice they are given or the objects that are bestowed upon them. Rather, to a child, the matters imparted on them hold nothing of particular materialistic favor, as they are neither touchable nor seeable.

In a child's view of the world, image and touch are everything. They are the gateway to understanding.

When you are beyond the age of a toddler, but not quite an adolescent, there are two types of things that exist irrefutably within your world: things that make sense, and things that do not. You have a general grasp on what is good and what is immoral and wrong, but you do not hold any specific opinion on either.

You go about these years gathering knowledge of the world around you, and it is what you will do with this knowledge when you come of age that will determine the type of person you will be for the remainder of your life.

You are ten years old, as is Brittany. Her birthday is near the end of September and seeing as how your birthday is not until July of this year, you are both at present the same age.

The last few years that you have grown and 'aged' have been spent no further from Brittany than the distance between your bedrooms, and the time in between your absences from each other's worlds has been brief and fleeting.

You were, and still very much are to this day, grateful to have been there for Brittany that one night three years ago when you first climbed over to her bedroom by crawling through her window.

Since that moment, you and Brittany have traded off spending nights together in one or the other's beds.

When her papa is absent for the evening, you and Brittany enjoy time in her bedroom where you indulge in reading and dress up. Brittany very much enjoys dressing you up, and you allow it because you know it suits her and her delighted behavior often lights your typically sour mood.

But when her papa is home for the evening, you and Brittany retreat to the safety of your bedroom, pulling the plank free from the windows and remaining silent if the man enters her bedroom.

For the first few times, Arthur Pierce tempered when he entered his daughter's bedroom in search of her and did not find her.

Tonight was no different but different all the same.

You had already intended on spending the evening and ensuing night in the comfort of your bed with Brittany when the sound of the Pierce family automobile arriving on the dirt outside of Brittany's home alerted you and your blonde friend from your leisure state sprawled out upon her bed.

Brittany's eyes immediately locked with yours, you had both gotten to the juncture where words were unneeded to communicate. You knew what Brittany was saying to you based solely on the look in her eyes and the flecks or shades of colors that would appear in them.

Silver flecks meant she was happy. If her eyes turned cloudy and grey she was not feeling well. When the iris lit with a dull yellow Brittany was feeling a mixture of sadness and isolation, never from you but it often still makes such everyday activities more difficult while you attempt to cheer her up.

You love Brittany's eyes in all colors and lights, but when her eyes shown a murky blue, like the dark tinge that illuminates the night sky when the sun dips fully from the horizon, you knew that Brittany was shaking with fear and panic.

She turned to you as you both heard the sound of the screen door below being wrenched and swung open. Her bottom lip trembled. You were up from her bed and leading her to the window before any other sounds rang out through the house.

As you climbed to the floor of your bedroom directly behind Brittany, you turned and pulled the plank to your side.

Everything that occurred next happened in such rapid succession you barely knew what was transpiring before it had already gone and passed.

Brittany's door swung open, it's trajectory and momentum causing the few scattered papers on the floor of Brittany's bedroom to pick up and float through the air as if on a breeze.

The movement of the paper, which Arthur Pierce had been following with his eyes, caused his gaze to fall directly onto yours across the way where you still stood looking from your window.

You think that right then he knew what the situation was with everything and that even though Brittany was trembling, hidden from his view at your legs, the man understood what had been occurring in his household out of his sight for so many years.

His general intoxicated state appeared to be absent, and his eyes shown with a comprehension that made you shiver. Not only did he now know of the situation but there was also the very notion that his knowledge could bring about harm to Brittany.

The very thought of that terrified you. Instinctually, you squared your shoulders and held your gaze steady and firm with his.

He made no attempt to speak to you, nor did he advance further into his daughter's room. Arthur Pierce merely turned his gaze from you and left the bedroom as quickly as he had entered.

Once you had coaxed Brittany out of her frightened state upon your bedroom floor, and managed to get her into your bed, she clung to you as though her life depended on it, and you made sure she knew that your life depended on her being safe and well.

Fortunately, the occurrence appeared to be another one quickly forgotten by Brittany's papa, as he was absent from her house the next morning in which Brittany had to return. She spent the day with her mother and older brother Ryder, and when night came, her papa was still absent.

At least that was what you hoped was true.

After the events of this evening, Brittany's papa will seemingly cease looking for his daughter. His intoxicated state will return in a vigorous manner and he will began to not recall any occurrences the next day, when Brittany does eventually return to her bedroom, and the entire situation will go unknown.

Just as it was before.

(Though things are not always as they seem.)

And every evening on, when her papa is absent, Brittany will still appear at your window and beacon you to hers.

Tonight, Brittany remains safe.

(And you will always keep it as so.)

When you fall asleep, shortly after Brittany drifts off in your arms murmuring about adventures that you and she would partake in the following day, you can't help but think about how you will make tomorrow another wonderful day for your best friend.

* * *

You awake the following morning in a peculiar position you have not had the chance of experiencing as of yet. In truth, the position had never occurred to you to try in the first place, seeing as how it would be highly improper for you to ever find your body tangled as it is with anyone else's, most especially at an age such as your own.

Here you are though, lying on your back with Brittany lying solidly on top of your person.

Her cheek rests pressed into the area just southward and shy of your collarbone, her nose is tucked into the crook of your neck, her lips are releasing a warm breath across the skin of your throat.

Brittany's legs are tangled and twined in between your own to the point that were it not for the contrast in both of your skin tones, you would not be able to determine where your body ends and hers begins.

Brittany's right hand rests palm down against the cotton material that covers your chest. You can feel your heart beat it's steady Brittany rhythm directly under her touch.

It beats in synchronization with Brittany's breaths.

Because you are _hers __**thump**__ all hers __**thump**__ always __**thump**__._

Your hands rest one high and one low on her back, keeping her from harm even while she sleeps. You lie there and admire the way the sunlight that is shining in through your window plays off the pearly sheen of her skin.

It's appears as though it will be a breathtaking spring day in the middle of May.

Brittany stirs a few minutes after you wake, no doubt her body has registered the change in your own and is matching your pace to drift from slumber. You watch in silence as a crown of golden blonde hair lifts from your chest and clear, almost bright cerulean blue eyes meet your own. The color is magnificent, like a dusting of the morning sky as it appears through gaps in the late spring/early summer clouds.

Brittany's reaction to discovering the position you both rest in is a bright smile flashed directly at you. It would appear as though she too has no qualms with the situation.

By the first call of the early birds, you and Brittany are dressed for the day to undertake an adventure in the woods on the outskirts of your small town.

You wear your brother's too big on you hand-me-down faded blue overalls over a white linen button up top. You've got the sleeves of your shirt and the legs of your overalls rolled up because they are far too long for you. Your worn flat cap rests upon your head, shrouding your dark and regretfully long hair from the sun that would heat it.

Brittany is clothed in a voile summer frock the color of sunflowers with little white polka dots speckled about. She looks a might pleasant with her hair braided in pigtails and wrapped in a red bow.

The walk is not far, and the day is nice.

As it usually is when you go on such adventures, today's outing was Brittany's request. She wished to do something involving nature for the day, and seeing as how she has been meaning to explore the wildlife within the woods for some time now, she considered doing just that.

Naturally, you are never one to deny Brittany anything she wants.

You spend the majority of the time in the woods with a scowl on your face, barring the times that you catch a glimpse of Brittany. A smile upon her radiant face never fails to bring one about your own.

It is not until you are ready to exit the woods and return to your house for supper that Brittany appears to spot something. She turns and walks with purpose through the woods, and you watch her curiously. When she doesn't immediately return is when you begin to get nervous.

"Britt!" You call heading in the direction you last saw her go. It takes you a few short moments to come across her. She is kneeling by a tree and looking purposefully at something upon the ground. She must hear your step because she turns and signals you to approach silently.

You walk the remaining space between you and Brittany as quietly as possible and glance over her shoulder.

On the ground is a bird's nest, and within the nest is a shaking and frightened looking bird. You've never a bird in such a state before.

His wings are a muted grey, speckled with dark and light browns and hints of black. His body is slender, his plumage a dusty light brown with a pinkish tint in the shape of a heart positioned towards the top. The tail is long and the end feathers are black, with white on the underside.

Upon closer examination you notice that one of his wings is frayed at the feathers and tucked at an awkward angle. He is injured.

"San, I think he's injured. He made no effort to move when I approached." Brittany informs you. You gather the distinct tone of compassion that laces her words, and you already know that you aren't leaving these woods without Brittany _and_ the injured bird.

You kneel down slowly and remove your cap. Brittany watches you in earnest as you gently take a hold of the edges of the nest, careful to not touch the area where the bird rests, and lift it to place it safely in your cap.

You rise to your feet slowly and carefully, lifting the bird in your cap with your motions until you hold it steady and safe in front of you. You turn to Brittany and are taken aback slightly when you see a look of absolute adoration covering her face. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but you know they are happy ones.

You feel your face heat for some reason and you duck your head away from her gaze suddenly sheepish.

"Com'on Britt." You call over your shoulder as you turn and make your trek out of the woods. Brittany is by your side and looping her arm through yours a second later. You walk the distance back to your house's slower than normal, careful not to jostle the injured bird in your hands.

Later that evening, you and Brittany attend your individual and required family suppers'. The bird joins you because you couldn't bear to set it down in your room and allow it to become further injured, knowing Brittany would be devastated such a thing should happen.

Your mama, though hesitant of such a thing being in your home (though you suspect she allows it so simply when you inform her the bird is Brittany's) informs you that the bird is a Mourning Dove, more commonly known as a Turtle Dove.

She also informs you that the bird is a female and that reminds you that you would do well to help Brittany care for it.

(Your mama has always had a soft spot for the blonde).

You hasten to tell Brittany the news the moment you are excused from the table and are delighted to find that the girl is already waiting for you in your bedroom. She pauses from reading her book while perched upon your bed and lifts her eyes to you as a smile covers her face.

"You should have joined us Britt, you would have enjoyed supper." You tell her skipping to the side of your bed. She waits for you to open the drawer of your bedside table where you had layered old shirts and small blankets in to give the bird a home.

The delicate creature looks up at you from her spot as you tell Brittany the information your mama has just made you privy too.

Brittany claps her hands in excitement.

"A turtle dove! San, those are wonderful birds." She tells you, but you know not what she speaks of.

Instead of reading that night, you and Brittany tend to the bird, intent on caring for it and nursing it back to health. When Brittany asks you what to call the bird you tell her that it all her decision, she rightfully found it after all.

She smiles at you and considers for a moment before deciding.

"I think we should name her Heart."

You smile at that, particularly because it is quite fitting for the bird.

Mostly because it is just Brittany and thus absolutely perfect.

* * *

No one ever tells you when you are younger that things in life will happen and that's simply that. No warnings or words of wisdom. They happen and you must face them.

You don't fancy uncertainties. Almost as much as you don't fancy change.

Change is a hindrance, although inevitable you know, it is dreary and gloom as the winter cold without a coat. Just because such a thing is bound to happen, does not mean you have to like it.

For another thing, change is unpredictable and you always valued a consistency in your life. Or more particularly, you have valued one constant in your life.

Brittany.

You and Brittany count on each other, and the things you do together, like the moon follows the sun as it brings about the night.

Everything always changes. Sometimes the change is good, but often the change is something you'd much rather avoid.

It's only early summer, but soon summer will change into fall. Just as it does every year.

And just like you have every year since you meet Brittany, you dread the change of summer to fall because it affects that constant in your life.

You are desperately not looking forward to the coming change.

You attempt to keep yourself blissfully tranquil with the notion that "Some things change, and once more, some things never do."

* * *

_**August 26**__**th**__**, 1921**_

"_I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us_." You listen to Brittany read from the latest book that holds her interest. _The Secret Garden_, you find, is an exceptionally insightful story.

In never fails to astound you that the grace with which Brittany so faultlessly reads the words in her stories, and in turn has you recite them, is as delightful as the lethargic summer afternoons that you and she spend down by the river reservoir.

Everything with Brittany is magical in itself, and you know you needn't look far to find it.

Reading with Brittany is neither tedious nor tiresome. The stories she chooses, and the animation she displays to you whilst reading them, make for newly acquired entertainment and education day after day.

At present you find that you would very much like, as is common with many of the fictional settings Brittany enlightens you with, to escape to your own illusory setting.

In this case, you wish to escape to some private and hidden garden situated behind a splendidly clandestine and unsuitably locked gate.

Once more, you would do so with Brittany, time and again.

Particularly during this time of year as the end of summer nears and the inevitable events that follow the departure of the bright sun and it's scorching heat beacon.

By this time the following week Brittany will have returned to her annual lessons at the schoolhouse on the other side of town. The very same schoolhouse in which you, as well as anyone of the same skin tone as you, are not allowed.

At least in the sense of being there to obtain education.

You may not possess the skills to refrain Brittany from attending school, but you have the drive to make your last week of full-time, every second of the day spent with her the best that it can possibly be.

And you plan on doing just that.

First, however, you must complete your daily reading lesson. In truth, besides being around your blonde best friend, reading has now become one of your favorite pastimes.

Brittany has been very successful in her endeavor to assist you in your progress in advancing your literacy. Not only has she managed to efficiently teach you the alphabet, what the letters mean, how they sound and how to read them but she has also brilliantly taught you how to write many of the letters and work out common words and phrases.

She attempted to educate you in the act of counting and working with numbers, but you found that particular venture to be quite disadvantageous to your general mood turning you sour and noncomplacent that such action was thus scrapped by Brittany in favor of keeping you relaxed and at ease.

You don't have the heart to tell her that the mere act of her being around you keeps you those things. Besides, you have not a care in the world for numbers and so long as Brittany is by your side you have no real use of them.

It is quite interesting; you find every moment of the day, being around your jubilant friend.

You are always discovering something new and enthralling each moment that you spend growing up alongside Brittany. You find it a simple task to call her your best friend, as she calls you hers as well and is never ashamed to declare such a thing both verbally and physically.

You are exceptionally proud and beyond grateful to have such a lovely and wonderful friend.

"San?" Brittany's voice, which still carries an angelic undertone but is now laced with an understanding and sense of maturity she has developed over these past four years.

You focus your eyes. You know you were staring at her profile and that she discovered you were less than absorbed in what she was reading. It's not as though you wished to not hear her, it was more that your thoughts (as they tend to do when thinking about Brittany) drifted away.

You duck your head sheepishly and Brittany huffs out a tiny breath against the side of your cheek.

"Sorry Britt, I was thinking about us having our own secret garden." You mumble and wait for your reprimand.

It never comes.

Instead, Brittany places a lingering sweet kiss to your cheek and you feel the skin (as it always does when Brittany kisses your cheek) bloom with heat. A bashful smile tugs at your lips and Brittany leans closer into you.

"That would be quite splendid wouldn't it? To have our very own garden?" She speaks wistfully and you know that she too will be overcome by her imagination.

Brittany's imagination has always been one fascinating and infinite. She imagines things you have never heard of and talks of brighter colors and stunning landscapes and thrilling architecture and exquisite sights that you could never even dream of.

You never mind though, Brittany shares it all with you in the end. You and her always share everything.

"It would Britt. It would be exceptionally swell."

You continue to listen to Brittany read, comforted by the feel of her leaning her back into you. There's a certain joy that is tailored specifically towards Brittany that comes with the warmth of her body and the aroma of her skin and hair.

The sensation you experience with Brittany this close makes it feels as though Independence Day fireworks are been lit and set free within your stomach and chest.

They upsurge in tandem and explode in tingles and buzz. You hold her closer just to experience and feel the gale of the marvelous reaction your body creates. You breathe in deep.

You breath in all that is Brittany.

Brittany has very much adapted to not spending more than time absolutely necessary at her own house. You have no qualms with the arrangement, and seeing as how your brother's and mama too are smitten with your blonde friend, in a manner completely different then that of your own, it allows you the opportunity to spend as much time with Brittany as you can.

You do not startle when the door of your bedroom swings open and David marches himself through the opening. It is neither shocking nor surprising that one of your brother's is interrupting your day.

Brittany glances from her book but does not shy from her position leaned into you, and dips her head in greeting.

"'Ello David." She says with a kind smile.

"'Ello Brittany." Your elder brother greets and you are thankful that he does not attempt to shorten your friend's name.

He has not attempted to do so since the moment he made the mistake of it when first making Brittany's acquaintance.

It was a strange occurrence a few years back.

Besides Rudy and your mama, Brittany remained a mystery in your home for the first several months of your friendship. When David, in a similar manner as the one displayed today, entered your bedroom and saw a white blonde girl sitting on your bed with not a care in the world, you imagine he had a right scare.

David had blinked at Brittany, as his mouth remained a gap. Brittany in her just so way, dashing with her ever-present kindness smiled and greeted him with the introduction of her name. He choked on it whilst repeating it at the same moment you reentered your bedroom, with the lemonade you had gathered for you and Brittany, and corrected David on the proper decorum of greeting a lady and informed him of your friend's proper and full name.

It did not take long for David to be enlightened and mesmerized by Brittany. You wonder if she will ever not have that effect on people.

"Tanny." David greets in your direction and you merely raise one eyebrow in supply. You still possess no collective liking for that nickname.

In lieu of a reply you merely grunt and shift to look away from your brother. Brittany giggles and the vibrations rumble from her body into where she's pressed against your chest. It makes your heart skip a beat, both at the sound and the feeling.

"Are you ladies planning on setting ship here all day anyhow?" David calls from the doorway and you are pulled from the bubble of peace that you had been experiencing with Brittany alone.

You register your brother's words and glance to Brittany for her opinion. She has final say in everything regardless of what you wish, but you never wish for anything but her so it typically equals out in both your favors.

"I had considered you and I taking Heart back to the woods. We can let her get back to nature and find her mate." Brittany speaks up to you and you watch her demeanor deflate slightly.

Though she knew it was inevitable, it still pains Brittany to think of having to return Heart to her natural habitat.

(Change is a dreadful thing.)

You nod slowly.

"I like that idea Britt. Why don't we go to the reservoir and set her loose there. I've seen other birds of her type around before, perhaps it would be better for her." You suggest.

There has also always been a feeling about the reservoir.

It was where you saved Brittany's life. It was where you first bonded and became friends with her and it is where the two of you often return and spend long days passing time when you wish for it to just be you both alone.

Brittany smiles her lopsided smile and you know she understands your meaning.

"Alright." She says.

David walks the two of you and Heart to the lake area on his way into town. Upon his departure he informs you he will be back to gather you both to return for supper on time.

You nod obediently to him. David has always meant well.

You and Brittany walk Heart slowly to the reservoir area. She begins to immediately flutter her wings, which have both recovered marvelously, when you approach nearer and nearer to the woods that run in a line close to the river.

You pause at the tree line's edge and turn to Brittany offering her the cap with which Heart rests in. She gives you a sad smile but cups one side of the cap with you. You look at her curiously.

"Together." She says and your heart squeezes in your chest. You never imagined that nursing an injured bird back to health and then having to release it back into its natural habitat could ever be so difficult. They way that Brittany looks at you with such trust tells you that she had always known.

Brittany seems to always know, even if she's not forthright about it on the constant.

On a silent count of three, you and Brittany simultaneously kneel to the ground and set your cap down.

In a short instant, Heart hopes on her perching feet from her dwelling in the cap a few feet into the wooded area before her wings stretch out at her sides and she flutters them about. Nothing occurs for the first few tries, and you are getting apprehensive that she will not be able to fly after so long being immobile.

Then, something magical happens.

With an extra burst of wing power, Heart begins to lift her body off the ground. The take off is unsteady at first but soon you and Brittany stare in awe as she flies to magnificent heights above the splendid treetops of the forest.

You say a silent pray of fortune for the bird, and solemnly miss your winged friend.

Brittany reaches out and locks her littlest finger with your own. You squeeze it in comfort and reassurance.

"Say San."

You turn to her in question.

"Yes Britt?"

She considers for a moment.

"This reservoir area is very much like our own secret garden out here is it not? I mean there are no gates or actual magical gardens, but I feel more at home here with you than almost anywhere else." She says in candor.

A smile fits across your face. You have always admired Brittany's frank manner of speaking.

"It's mine as well." You inform her in truth.

She smiles back at you and swings your linked hands between the two of you.

"I am very thankful for that."

* * *

You are sitting with your back leaned up against the giant oak tree who's branches stretch out over the reservoir water. You watch idly as Brittany splashes around in the water a couple few yards in front of you and you hold a book in your hands.

The sun has not began it's decent in the sky and there is still a little bit of summer heat that radiates off the ground and reflects from the water's surface to keep you warm.

It took Brittany the span of a quarter hour to mourn the loss of Heart. She pleaded farewell to the bird in an easeful manner and then promptly informed you that she wished to go for a swim. You informed her that you would watch from the shore and indulge in a book you had brought.

Brittany loves when you practice your reading without her incentive. You love making Brittany happy.

Your eyes return briefly to the page that you had been browsing, your interest lacking in the subject matter. Brittany has already read this particular book to you, and you find you loose a great deal of interest when your own reading is not as delightful as the way she reads to you.

A drop of water splashes on the center of the page and you stare at it confused for a moment before a girlish giggle causes you to surrender your attention to another sight.

Brittany is giggling down at you from her stance, bent at the waist so that her head, and mop of wet sleeked brownish yellow hair, is successfully dripping water onto yourself and your book. You frown at her and her giggles escalate to laughs.

"Britt!" You attempt to chastise but fail miserably as her joy ignites the one that typically lies dormant within your own chest. Nothing of the happiness you ever hide can ever be hidden from Brittany.

You smile up at her and hold your hands out so that she may assist you in standing.

Once on your feet you notice the true state that she is in.

Having not changed into a swimtank nor brought a towel to dry off, Brittany stands in her off-white cotton slip and drawers.

It would be common for the look to be immodest, and it would be improper for you to look upon Brittany so openly had the both of you not grown up together and been in such seclusion from other's at the moment.

Despite your comfortableness around Brittany, heat still pricks at your cheeks when you consider the words you must speak to her next.

"Britt, you have no towel."

The blonde's elated face drastically falls to a frown and she glances down her body and finds the truth of your words.

"Well drat."

You giggle and then an idea comes to you.

"You can wear my knickers and shirt if you wish." You tell her and her face alights once again.

"Yes please."

You smile back at her until you remember that you will have to strip the garments from your own body before you can present them to Brittany. Your smile quickly fades to a frown. You have already told Brittany you will do such a thing for her.

You shant ever go back on your word to her.

Swallowing heavily to dislodge the lump in your throat, you glance back up to meet blue eyes.

"Alright. You best turn around while I take them off then." You tell her. It comes out quiet and shy and you start to fidget terribly. Brittany's eyes go wide momentarily at your words and you see her throat too move in an effort to swallow. Finally she nods.

"Alright." And then hesitantly turns so her back is to you. You take another moment waiting to see if she will turn back around to ask you anything, and when she doesn't, you turn so your back is to her as well.

You loosen the overalls and shimmy out of them quickly. You glance over your shoulder and see that Brittany still has her back turned to you. You make haste in removing your shirt, leaving you in your sleeveless cotton undershirt that is cut off at the waste and then drop your knickers.

As you are stepping out of them in a hurry you neglect to consider that your ankle may get tangled, and when it does you groan at your misfortune.

"Are you alright San?" Brittany's concerned voice filters over into your ears and your face flushes even hotter. In your current position you cannot check to make sure she doesn't turn around.

"Yes Britt, I'm alright. Don't turn around yet!" You call back and yank your foot until your ankle comes blissfully free. You quickly scramble back into your overalls and buckle up the straps before turning back around.

You have faith that you see movement from Brittany's direction, but when you focus on her you see she is still turned around. You step up behind her.

"Here you go."

She turns and as she is taking the proffered clothes from your hands, you catch a faint pink tint painted across her freckled cheekbones. She mumbles a 'Thank you' and informs you that now you must turn around so that she may dress.

You are more than curious as to know what the look on Brittany's face means, but you turn and obey. Your temptation to peek is rendered undone when you hear a whistling in the distance. You recognize the distinct harmony of David's tone.

"Quick Britt, David is returning." You whisper and forget you're not supposed to glance over your shoulder. You only catch a glimpse of porcelain skin; in such a brief moment you don't know what part of Brittany it may have been, before you are moving your eyes forward and in front of you again.

You try to ignore the way your skin burns from your face to your toes.

A second later Brittany skips to your side, changed and smiling. She plucks your cap from your head and fits it upon her own.

"Do I look like you now San?"

You smile in awe.

"No Britt, you look lovely." You tell her and then dip your head in bashfulness. Brittany looping her arm in yours and tugging on it draws you back to her.

"Promise that we can always be like this San." She says to you as she leads you towards the dirt road that runs past the reservoir, you follow willingly. You glance to her and study the look upon her face.

You've never seen such a look before, but you've never been one to deny Brittany anything.

"I promise Britt. You and me, things won't ever change. We will always be together. We will always be friends."

She smiles at you, there's a hint of true belief and dreamy want in her eyes. As though you've just told her you'd give her the moon if she asked.

(You think you would if it were possible.)

She nods and leans in pressing her lips in a ghost of a touch to your cheek.

"Good because that's all I ever want."

* * *

**Hey all!**

**Thanks to everyone so much for all your lovely and wonderful reviews/comments on the last chapter! You are all so lovely and awesome!**

**Sorry it took a little longer to get this out. I just got a shiny new Beta for this story and her work schedule was a little crazier than normal this week. But she's helped me though it and we got it out. So, thanks NoBlarney!**

**I hope things are still interesting for everyone. I know that the progression is a little on the slow side, but everything that happens between the girl's now is a huge part of how it will make them act when they are older. **

**It shall be worth it! **

**Thanks for reading. If you felt that it was worthy of a comment feel free to leave one, I take everything into consideration! If not, thanks again for reading!**

**-A**


	5. 5: Everything Wonderful Starts With You

**Fact: _Locket:_ A small ornamental case for a picture or keepsake, usually worn as a pendant. A locket is said to hold the deepest secrets of your heart and is entirely personal and sentimental to the wearer. Every locket has a story to tell or a secret held tightly within the little hinged door.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Everything Wonderful Starts With You and I**

**September 18****th****, 1921**

When you turned eleven years old, you developed a completely different perspective on life. Things became brighter, easier and you became much more disposed to be carefree in a knowing manner.

Unfortunately, there also developed the things that you still don't really understand. You are constantly and hardly ever listened too and further still, people assume you have no perpetual understanding of responsibility.

You are a Lopez, you are very much aware of the notion of responsibility.

Even in the summer season, most especially then, when you are not assisting your mama in the daily household chores, you can be found participating in some activity that requires you to exert a particular amount of skill and concentration.

Whether it be hauling the water in and out for your mama to do laundry. Or fetching wood and kindling for the fire. Your mama puts you in charge of the job and you ensure that it gets completed to the best of your ability. You are a responsible young adolescent.

Though you admit that being responsible is quite the burden at times.

After all, how ever are you to evoke the use of your imagination and enjoy amiable adventures with your best friend if you are at constant expected to be responsible and otherwise 'grown up'. You think sometimes this whole process of maturing is a matter better saved for those whom particularly have the desire to grow up.

You do not believe that growing up is really all that special or important. Most especially considering the amount of trouble you often see adults endure.

No one never tells you neither, when you're younger, that things in life will happen and that is simply that. There are no forthcoming warnings or words of caution to inform you that sometimes, things in life will not go as you'd planned them to.

No one tells you, folks just wait until something happens and then offer advice on what you could have or should have done. Often with a spiteful "You had it coming" tagged on the end to ensure you are very aware of your desperate mistakes.

As if the act of experiencing them is not unfortunate enough.

There were many things in your life that happened without reason. The one you think that held the most impact in regards to your future occurred in 1919. Even today, at eleven you find yourself reflecting on that occurrence.

Most especially today, you find yourself wondering if there was something you could have done back then to prevent what it would lead towards down the road.

You see, when you were nine, the Volstead Act, which defined the law's view of intoxicating liquor, was established but never fully enforced. The Act, and the lack of enforcement of it, never had any real baring on you. You'd never really been around liquor, your mama and papa rarely could afford the liquid-both in money and time, but at the same time, you were decidedly attentive of it's particular effect on Brittany's papa.

So when the 18th Amendment went into effect in early 1920, and Prohibition, which put a national ban on the sale, manufacture, and transportation of alcohol, was officially enforced to the degree of desperation, it swiftly changed many things for you and most especially for Brittany.

For Brittany and her family, but particularly her papa, the Prohibition ban would create a turmoil and trepidation that would run deeper than Lake Superior within the Pierce household. For you, the ban would sharpen your awareness in the protection of Brittany and your ambition to keep her out of harms way.

You would protect her to the ends of Earth. From anything, you simply never expected that her home life was not the only place you would particularly have to shield her from.

* * *

Today is Brittany's eleventh birthday. And despite the fact that she will have to spend the first half of her special day in schoolhouse lessons, you are eagerly holding to the notion that she will be spending the rest of her day with you.

As always, you and Brittany spend your birthday's doing something together.

You are even more excited that you will be surprising Brittany today by traveling to her schoolhouse and offering to walk her home.

You are clothed in your very best cotton summer dress. It shines a pretty off white, and boasts dainty light blue ruffles on the sleeves and an embroidered flower pattern on the silk lapel. The waist is tied taut with a crimson sash that matches the one in your hair.

Of course, you don't like wearing dresses but this time the occasion, you feel, necessitates it. You have a very formal plan for the day and you are intending on arriving at Brittany's schoolhouse dressed impressively so that your friend feels special and important.

Because Brittany is really and truly special and important to you.

Your mama managed to get your tangle of hair into a more practical state than it can usually be found. She had to comb out a lot of tangles, as your hair gets exceptionally wavy during autumn. You endure the pain though, as to be proper and presentable. What is not loose and falling over your shoulders is tied up with that matching pretty red bow.

Though you know the way to schoolhouse by heart, having traveled there and back on many occasions, your mama insisted Juan escort you for this particular trip, as David was unavailable as he is running errands with your papa. It would not be so much of a burden if Juan himself were not such a hindrance.

You walk politely knowing the mere sight of you on the street near the schoolhouse will raise curiosity and produce scrutiny. You silently abhor the fact that Juan kicks rocks and slouches by your side. As if he could make it any easier to bring about more options for people to ridicule and judge you by.

You aren't ashamed of who you are, you are proud and you walk so, but that does not mean that you appreciate or admire the way the rest of society looks at and thinks of you. If it were not against the rules, you would have a strict word or two for the lot.

You manage to walk through the small section of your neighborhood, near the end of the street you live on, that houses the neighborhood white church without incident. Usually, there are boys from the neighborhood closest to yours that prefer to wait at the corner and toss mockery about to those of yours or similar skin tone.

The words they say are common to your ears, they are demeaning and hateful.

You can do not a thing about it but walk by and hope they do not follow.

"Tanny, why you gotta walk to the schoolhouse now? You're asking for a licking you know right well." Juan speaks up from your side before he tastelessly hawks the spit from his mouth. You cringe in disgust. Must he be such a_ boy_?

You may dress as so every now and again but you do not act as so. Not for most of the occasion at least.

"It's Brittany's birthday." Is your simple answer. You know Juan will neither understand nor care about what you tell him, so you make it simple on yourself and shorten your words around him.

"Birthday? Tanny she's not even our family. She's a white girl that lives next door. You think she cares about that? 'Specially from you?" Juan then says and you feel your face heat in anger.

You know Juan does not understand. Juan has no friends outside of the scoundrels that inhabit the house three doors down from you. The twin boys that live in that house are as bad of bullies as Juan is, if not worse, which is why you suspect the three of them get along so well.

"Brittany is special to me, and that is all that matters." You tell him and turn your face away from him to prevent hearing any such things he may have to say in reply. Juan's opinion is of no importance to you. Particularly when it pertains to the case of Brittany and your friendship with her.

You pause at an area down the street that you and Brittany have passed many of times. It is a small trinket store that is owned by an elderly man. He is always kind to you and Brittany when the blonde has dragged you into the shop to look at some new glass or clay figure or other trinket she has spotted in the window.

A few months ago, right around the time lessons ended for Brittany, before summer, you and she were walking by the shop front. Brittany had been distracted during that time, caught up in telling you a story with deep description and incredible rapture, and thus she did not at first glance upon the thing that you did.

When your gaze captured her attention, Brittany immediately grew sweet on the item that rested so exquisitely in the shop window. You knew that the item would mean more to Brittany than a million dolls, toys and dresses.

You saved up every spare cent your mama gave you, and you raided your father's junk in the shed out back to barter and trade until you had a sufficient amount of coin saved up and burning a hole in your pocket. You suspected if anyone else knew of the money, they would both immediately think you'd obtained it wrongfully and want to ease you of it.

You kept it hidden and were careful with it, but today you were decidedly prepared to use it. You ignore Juan's groans of protest he released as you stepped into the shop and destined after your desired commodity.

You exited looking as though you had entered, vacant of any apparent possessions, and Juan looked at you curiously but did not speak a word. You found a smile tugging at your lips and you hummed a hymn as you walked on, you were now more confident about your impending sight of Brittany.

* * *

The rest of the walk to the schoolhouse is silent and for that you are eternally grateful.

When you come in sight of the schoolhouse you immediately spot the younger children who await escort home by their mama's and papa's, or older siblings, and you spot a group of older children heading off towards the asphalt area next to the schoolhouse building. You've been here enough times for and with Brittany to know that's where most of the children play skip rope and hopscotch.

You know you are early. Brittany is typically the last from the classroom on days she has no awareness of your arrival, always eager to learn more and talk and talk and talk with her teacher. Brittany is prevalently observant and she craves knowledge like the flower craves the sunlight. She is curious and exceptionally gifted in her ability to absorb facts that interest her.

Of course, had she known that you were to arrive as her escort she would have been the first from the building and met you straight on with a pleasant and warm hug. She might have even lifted you up and spun you around briefly as she has done so in the past. No bother though, you know there will be plenty future hugs to share with Brittany.

You wait patiently on the edge of the walkway outside of the school. Juan stands back a good few feet from you, undoubtedly sneering at the children who pass too closely to him. You catch a flash of blonde among the crowd of children.

You understand that there are a least three-dozen children whom attend the schoolhouse, and over half of them have blonde hair, but you also have the skills to pick out Brittany from the crowd simply by the shade of her hair and the way it dances in the breeze and sways as she walks.

If her hair is tied up, the result is a calm and free swing that is both alluring and flawless at the same time.

Like the soft sway of the willow tree whose branches dance in the field across the street from yours and Brittany's houses.

A grin reflexively stretches across your face as the glimmer of Brittany's blue eyes catches off the reflection of the sun on the hard concrete and then those eyes lock on you. Brittany pauses from her intended direction of wander and a grin that certainly matches your own extends across her face.

In the blink of an eye, Brittany's course is set towards you, and you notice her traveling faster than any other children in her locality. When she reaches you not even a moment later you can feel the positive energy and perceptible excitement that radiates from her body directly towards you.

She stands a breath away from you, tipping slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her hands are locked in front of her turned upside down opposite of how she'd pray, with her fingers intertwined. She's smiling at you softly but she also has a look of broadened expectancy.

You take a beat and remember why you came here in the first place. (You are always so easily distracted by Brittany.)

Reaching into your dress pocket, you pull the dandelion that you'd found on the side of the street not too far back and brush its pedals back gently with your fingers from where the pressure it was exposed to while in your pocket caused an indent to appear. Once you feel it is deserving of Brittany's regard, you hold your arm extended enough to put the flower into her space.

"Happy Birthday Britt. I saw this flower and it reminded me of you because it's yellow and bright and happy. It's also something that rests silently beautiful among the rest of the world but is often admired for its tenderness. Not many people understand the dandelion, but those that do know that someday it turns into a white form of itself which if released properly can live on forever and possibly grant someone a wish of their very own desire." You explain to Brittany.

You know that she knows what the flower is. You also know that you and she have spent many summers tracking down the white fluff dandelions to blow them free to the wind only to try and capture them again so you may wish upon them. You know she knows this, but you also know how much you knowing that means to her.

Brittany taught you such things after all, and there is not a thing that brings more joy to Brittany than you repeating something she has taught you.

A heart beat later and Brittany has her arms wrapped tightly around your neck, her face buries into the dip of your collarbone where it extends downwards from your shoulders and neck. You are taken by surprise at first but you recover as quickly as possible and shift your own arms around your blonde friend's tall frame.

She's taller than you, that much is obvious. Your size still remains far smaller than anyone else your age. She's lean and bony where you are petite and curvy. Your mama says it's in your genes, you find your added shape on your hips and backside simply makes wearing your trousers more difficult. You almost dread the day when you will grow into the curves that are supposed to appear on your chest.

Brittany doesn't seem to mind it at all. Once more, she is content with her body, if not seemingly less than gracious with it at times. She has too much height and not enough coordination, and on occasion looses her balance if not focused. You're always there to catch her though, and despite the different shapes of your bodies, you find that the two of you still fit perfectly together at any given moment. (Sometimes you feel as though Brittany tumbles on purpose, she always has a smile on her face when you catch her.)

"Thank you San, it is wonderfully charming and exquisitely lovely." Brittany replies to you as her arms remain around your neck and her cheek now rests against your shoulder. You cannot see her face, but you can tell by the tranquility and smoothness of her voice that her eyes are shut and a content smile indubitably covers her face.

You squeeze her a little tighter, hoping she can sense your feelings of admiration and the unyielding respect and pride you hold for her. You also hope that she knows how the flower is nowhere near as lovely as she, most especially in your own eyes.

"Tanny, we best be getting back. Mama's probably right with panic as to where we are. You've gathered Brittany, what more do you need to do anyhow?" Juan speaks up from behind you and you tense briefly in Brittany's arms.

It's a natural reaction to hearing Juan's voice. Your body tenses and prepares for his temper or retaliation of anger. There may also be the notion that you had momentarily forgotten about his presence.

Whilst around Brittany there is nay anyone else in the world.

Reluctantly you lean back from the comforting and affectionate embrace feeling as if you were a quaint and dainty lily pad floating down the coldwater creek. Brittany does wonders to tame your emotions and calm your mood. You imagine how your life could always be as such, if only Brittany were to stay in it forever.

You think you very much enjoy the thought of that.

"Shall we go then?" You inquire as the space between yourself and your blonde haired friend becomes wide enough to fit just a flower without crushing it but nothing more. You'd wish to never have space between you if you could. Your hands remain linked.

"Oh San, I just recalled that Miss Holiday had requested to speak with me after class. Do you mind terribly if I go and speak with her real quick? I promise not to toddle or be gone long." Brittany speaks up quiet and shy, almost as if she is nervous of proposing the question. You smile at her and squeeze her hand.

With a nod you reply.

"Of course Britt. I'll be waiting for you when you so return. Have not a bother about it." You tell her in earnest. You'd never wish for Brittany to feel as though she could not do something without you or against your permission. You do not own her. The thought alone is prohibited by the very rules of society, and you'd never wish for it regardless.

Brittany may always do as she pleases, and despite how you feel (or despite the fact you'd always want best for her and encourage her to do what makes her happy), that shall never change and it will not do you well to ponder further upon it.

Brittany smiles widely at your reply and leans in to place a peck against your cheek. You hear Juan snicker behind you but you pay him no mind. You are friends with the most wonderful and interesting girl in the world.

* * *

You and Juan await Brittany's return by kicking rocks across the asphalt in the hopscotch square. You'd never bothered to learn the game, though Brittany tried relentlessly to teach you. It always felt as though your actions were unrewarded and produced nothing of satisfactory regard.

What was the point of the game if not to obtain something from it?

Brittany enjoyed it however, in her own whimsical way. And what Brittany enjoys, you shall always enjoy as well (even if you lack the knowledge or skill to endeavor in it).

You don't mind the sounds and noises that surround you. There is only one sound that would register so clearly in your mind at this time; the soft but distinctly graceful pattered footfall of Brittany. She has a way when she moves that makes the world pause. Her grace and delicacy to structure and technique whilst performing the mere art of walking astounds and amazes you.

Brittany is truly one of a kind. She makes everything she does look brilliant and everything that surrounds her carries a bit of magic.

So when you hear a creaking door that must belong to an oil neglected hinge on a large metal door, you pay it no bother. You make out the faint heavy scrapping of a shoe across loose asphalt but it sounds as nothing more to you than a nuisance. You hear a distinct _thwack!_ which would surely signify the placement of a palm to some type of firm or otherwise solid like surface.

You pay no bother to the sounds as they are of no importance. That is until you hear the whimpered gasp of Brittany and her padding feet pause hesitant somewhere behind you. You whirl around to the faint sound, your eyes wide and searching.

You spot Brittany where she is standing just outside of the metal door, which acts as the exit from the schoolhouse. In front of her stand two boys, more than likely a year or two older than her.

They are stocky and tall, built like the lugers who work at the factory where your papa works-the men who easily haul 80lb bags of sugar and stack it upon the flatbeds of the trucks' that will export it out on.

Obviously the boys represent that stockiness on a smaller scale, but they are large and intimidating nonetheless. Once more, they are standing with their arms crossed and their stances aggressive as they stare at Brittany. It is then you notice Brittany's notebook, and the papers she'd had within it, scattered about at her feet.

You are smart enough to deduce that the _thwacking_ sound you heard just a moment ago was that of one of the boys knocking the notebook from Brittany's hands.

Pray to the Heaven and skies above that these boys are not thinking about doing what you think they might be. Your legs begin to move you before your brain has managed to fully and properly catalogue and compose your thoughts.

As you near the boys and Brittany you can further make out the expression of your blonde friend and recognize a look of helpless fear manifesting upon her typically gentle and optimistically lovely peach toned face. You also immediately ascertain that Brittany's cheeks are streaked with tears that still flow freely from her eyes.

You approach quicker than you were aware you could. You hear one of the boys-the one standing closer to Brittany, is speaking in a low hushed but cynical voice.

"You sure got a lot of papers for someone whose head's too much an oilcan to read 'em. Don't you know that no one bothers to listen to you? If you'd say something sharp every now and again, maybe Ms. Holiday could teach the rest of us a thing or two instead of wasting time on someone such as you." The boy expresses as he steps nearer to Brittany.

You watch as Brittany's once translucent blue eyes widen and then turn a murky blue and appear as though all light has been extinguished from them. You know that she is terrified.

"I-I didn't mean to m-make Ms. H-holiday p-pause the l-lesson. I j-just didn't understand a-as w-well is a-all." Brittany manages to gasp out. You can see her pulse beat rapid in her throat, her heartbeat no doubt matching the panic that is etched across her face.

You gather the other boy muttering something to himself under his breath and you watch as the first speaking boy makes to step even closer to your scared friend. You don't let him take another step forward before you are stepping between him and Brittany.

"Who-What?" You watch the mouth on the bigger stocker boy flap open and gap a few times. You have obviously surprised him in such a manner he knows not what to do about it.

"Dave, where did she come from?" You hear the other boy mutter at the one he just referred to as Dave as he stands barely off to the right. Dave fits a glare upon him before his sneer is directed back in at you.

"No matter Finn. Looks like we got us a spic who has forgotten her place." Dave exasperates as his awkwardly rounded and disproportional face focuses on you. Your eye ticks at the words he uses, you've heard them a few times and thus are aware enough to recognize he ain't saying anything nice.

"What are you doing here yeller? Don't you know this is our place? You'd better scram now ya hear." Dave projects with an assurance you've never witnessed before. It's as though he is not only using the societal restraints and restrictions of your ethnicity against you, he's acting as though he's the one who damn well created them.

It makes your blood-boil and your temper spike.

If you didn't know any better you'd have swung your fists at him a long time. You know that violence is not your place at this moment, not when you are so surrounded by individuals who condemn you for your presence simply with their looks.

You know that your only power right now lay in the words of diction you know like the back of your hand. Choice affronts that distract and blunder.

It's a might good thing that you learned how to speak so well when you were younger. And you are thankful that for when words do not assist, you have the particular propensity to exhibit looks you are told could stop the devil himself were he to walk in your path.

If you were to judge the success of the look you currently provide the boy named Dave, based solely on his reaction, you would suspect you had achieved a decorous status.

Your left eyebrow is cocked towards your hairline and your lips are pulled thin. Your eyes burn with aversion and appall.

"Listen here you rotten good for nothing piker. You're slighting my girl Brittany here and I don't take too kindly to that. How about you and your oaf of a flat tire mooch off 'fores I bump you in the beezer and turn you upright." You speak firm, clear and collected. Your arms are folded across your chest and your stance is stoic and demanding.

Dave looks as though he ought to reply, or at least he wishes too but he gets not the chance as Juan makes his appearance next to you in a similarly unforgiving stance. You'd know looking at the two of you that a small girl and an average size fourteen-year-old boy are nothing to run to the hills from, but you have your suspicions that this Dave is all jaw and no bronze anyhow.

"You'd best watch your back ya dirty spade, and you too doll." Dave mumbles first to you and than to Brittany as he focuses a seedy glare upon your best friend. You step further into his view to block her from it.

"Get on now." You tell him firmly through gritted teeth. You think if your arms weren't tangled so resolutely across your chest you'd be swinging them free range and angry as a bull seeing red.

Dave bumbles away, with the dupe Finn following close behind. You wait until they track sufficiently out of sight.

Bending down you gather Brittany's notebook and loose papers for her, briefly glancing a penciled drawing of distinctive little heart symbols across one of the pages. You recognize them as you recall seeing them in the book that you and Brittany most recently read.

You equate them with feelings of love and specialness, as did the book, and you wonder what or for whom Brittany is drawing such things.

As you proceed to return the notebook to your friend you are quite unexpectedly engulfed in a desperate embrace. The tenderness of the touch tells you it's Brittany, but you were able to direction that by the feel of her body pressed to yours and the scent that so commonly radiates from her. It's the same as it's been since the first time you met her.

Sunshine, summer and that sugary sweetness of ice cream all rolled into one.

You hope that Brittany will always bring such wonderful thoughts and images to your mind with the simple aroma that surrounds her. You also hope she never loses that natural scent as it makes Brittany uniquely her.

The embrace lasts a long while and you are content to return it but Juan proceeds to interrupt and you know you'd best be getting on home before your mama sends a search party. Or worse, Brittany's father returns home before you can.

You rub Brittany's back and squeeze her tight whispering a singular 'It's alright' to her before placing a soft kiss to the side of her hair. You don't realize how much of her ear is exposed through her hair until your lips brush across the shell a moment later. You pause terrified you have gone too far this time.

You are relieved to find Brittany sigh contently and appear to melt further into the embrace. You decide that for now what just transpired has not bothered her, but you shall not try it again for fear she draws away next time.

A few minutes later and the three of you are on your way back towards your respective houses. Yours and Brittany's pinkies are linked the whole time and you carry her notebook tucked under your right armpit. You don't want to burden her with any load after the ordeal she has just suffered.

You'd offer more to Brittany if you could.

* * *

On your way home, it was inevitable for you and Brittany to walk past the trinket shop she loves so dearly. As a matter of fact, the instant she spotted the shop her entire face lit up and she proceeded to skip, keeping a hold of your hand in the process, over to the shop window.

Your heart squeezes a little as you watch Brittany's face fall upon discovering that her normal observation is lacking a key article. She'd been expecting to find something in the shop window and is terribly disappointed when she does not. She turns to you with a look of deep pleading inquiry and your throat goes dry.

You can't lie to Brittany. It feels entirely against your very nature. At the same instance, you are not wholly prepared to tell her the truth.

"Come on you lot, it's almost supper time. If you don't want a right beating Tanny you'd best be getting on." Juan's voice resonates from behind you, laced with the usual malice and irritation. It will be one of two times in your life that you are thankful for Juan's exceptionally bad timing and ill-mannered attitude.

It provides a distraction and a key moment to interject into Brittany's thoughts.

"Wanna head home Britt?" You ask your friend who lowers her head in sadness but nods still the same. You shift your pinkie around to slide your fingers through the gaps of her own and grasp her hand in an effort to reassure Brittany you are still there and you just want her to be happy.

"It'll be alright Britt." You whisper softly as you proceed back down the street path that will lead you home, tugging Brittany gently along with you. It is not so much a lie, but it is not the full truth either. She nods and follows silently. You feel the grip on your hand become more apparent the further you walk away from the shop.

* * *

It is a little later in the evening, after you've returned home and enjoyed a supper meal with your family when you trudge up to your bedroom in waiting for Brittany.

You managed to acquire the assistance of your mother in baking a lemon meringue pie. You spent the last week collecting the ingredients for the pie and working hard to make certain that it would be delightful and wholly editable.

You think it turned out quite swell, at the very least it looks as though it has.

You sit on the edge of your bed, pie in hand and the small gift you obtained for Brittany resting wrapped in a sliver of discarded newsprint paper you obtained from the trash receptacle the other day. The material was in good shape, and apparently not needed by it's original owner.

When Brittany appears at her window only moments later you smile across the way at her and she easily returns the gesture. In an instant, you place the pie on your bed safely and step towards your window where you slide the plank across the way. You climb out on it and meet Brittany halfway to ensure her safe passage across to your bedroom.

As you step back into your bedroom behind your blonde friend, you hear her release a surprised, and delighted you are sure, gasp. You turn to see her looking towards your bed, having obviously spotted the items that rest upon it.

You smile at your idea, oh the cleverness of you.

"Happy Birthday Britt, again." You tell her as you take your stance next to her. She turns her blue eyes still wide and unbelieving that such a thing was prepared for her.

"For me?" She asks quietly and a grin spreads across your face at her adorable bashfulness. You've never seen someone so disbelieving in the things she deserves. You nod.

"Of course." You tell her and manage to get out the last syllable before long slender arms engulf you in a warm and adoring embrace.

When she pulls back, but not away, you stretch out to the bed and retrieve the gift you have so meticulously prepared and hold it in front of her. Brittany's face lights up even more, like a child's face on the eve of St. Nicholas's arrival or before the beautiful and majestic fireworks light the early July sky.

She takes the item gently from your hand and slowly unwraps it. Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth in deep concentration and practiced care. She takes the greatest precaution not to tear the paper and when she rolls it undone and the item falls into the palm of her hand she releases a gasp of joy.

In the palm of Brittany's hand rests the very trinket she missed gazing at so dearly upon her earlier glance into the shop's display window. It's a locket necklace about the size of a Peace silver dollar. The design is unique in the sense that it boasts the shape of heart and engraved onto the front of the locket is a picture of two doves intertwined.

Brittany continues to stare in disbelief and you gently reach out and pop the locket open so she may view the inside where you have diligently etched a large B on one side and an equally large S on the other. You have placed no picture in the locket, you had none to place, but you hope that perhaps Brittany will have one she wishes to display.

"San, it's wonderful." Brittany breaths out and you watch in admiration as her fingers delicately stroke over the curve of both letters, lingering a little longer on the S.

Before you get the chance to reply, Brittany is wrapping you up in another embrace. You wrap your arms tightly around her waist.

"Thank You." She whispers into the tresses of your hair that fall and conceal your face. You nod in response.

When you pull back for the second time you move to obtain the pie from your bed.

"I would have liked to bake you a cake, but I wasn't able to obtain the proper ingredients." You tell her shyly, still mildly disappointed that her birthday cake is actually a simple pie. Brittany smiles gleefully at you.

"I love pie, most especially lemon."

You think she always knows just what to say.

The two of you thoroughly enjoy a slice of pie and you wish her a happy birthday for a third, in the case that she did not fully grasp the first two times you told her. Brittany hardly takes her eyes of the locket that remains in the palm of her hand. Eventually she requests that you help her place it around her neck.

As you do, she trails her fingers down the silver chain and her fingers graze the engraved doves as a small smile pulls across her face. The locket rests beautifully in the center of her chest, just shy of the dip where her collarbone connects with the top of her ribs. The silver glints splendidly against her porcelain skin.

It is not long after that Brittany begins to yawn, quite tired from the days activities. You make comment to go to sleep and she readily agrees. The both of you change from your play garments into your modest sleepwear, giving each other privacy as you do so and then turn at the same time to your bed.

You smile at Brittany and offer her the opportunity to slide into the bed first.

You assist her under the covers of your bed before sliding in after her and conforming your body to a comfortable position so that she may snuggle in next to you. Tonight she appears far too exhausted to read, and as evidence by the way she turns her body into yours and rests her head on your chest just below your chin, as you lie on your back, you suspect there will be nothing but light words tonight.

That bothers you not one bit. Often, light chatter with Brittany is the best part of your night. She has such a swell imagination and way with jargon that the words are like melodies to your ears. Her voice harmonizes the tempo and you rest easy knowing such beauty exists in your life.

"San?" Brittany quietly calls out from her position resting upon you. You hum out a response.

"Do you feel I talk too much?" She asks next, quite and reserved as if afraid the answer will shatter her like the glass vase your mama keeps the June flowers in at the kitchen window.

"No Britt, I think your talk is just right. The words you speak are always mighty swell and they way you talk reminds me of the harmonies my abuela used to sing to me back on the home island." You tell her and feel slightly nostalgic at your own words. Your abuela remains on the island and sometimes you miss her so.

You feel Brittany shift on top of you so that her legs tangle with your own and her body is pressed even closer to yours. She sighs out a warm breath that breezes across the collar of your undershirt, skirting across the skin like a shadow chases it's owner.

"I'm so thankful for you San, you make my life a wonderful experience." Brittany whispers and you smile and rub your hand up and down her back.

"I'm thankful for you too Britt, I couldn't imagine my life with out you in it. I'd still be lonely and dark, searching for a sunlight that would never come. You're my sunlight Britt, I do hope you know that." You respond sincerely and you feel her nod into your chest after a beat.

"I don't know what those boys were saying to you but I know it weren't nice. I don't think anything like that about you San. I think you are the loveliest person I know." Brittany then tells you and your chest aches a little at the words from the way it expands in your chest. Brittany can indubitably feel the pick up in your heart rate, but you feel no embarrassment about it.

The most wonderful, beautiful individual in your world has just told you she feels a might bit the same about you. Nothing could be more exquisite or desirable.

You fall asleep imagining a future you had, at one point in time, thought could only be seen or obtained in your dreams.

With Brittany, you realize, there are so many wonderful things you have yet to live and learn. You are excited to continue to grow with her and discover them all.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for reading!**

**I have to apologize for as much as I love writing this story, the research it requires sometimes is extensive. As such, and with my other project taking precedence, I must put a slight hold on this story at this time. I am in no way stopping the continuance of it, but rather am stating that the updates may be farther between, at least until I am more caught up with DDSN and the rest of my schooling.**

**I hope you choose to stay with me for this story, as I can promise the end result will be very lovely. When I have the time to properly write a respectable chapter I will post it, and I will try not to take longer than two weeks between updates.**

**Thank you again for all the reviews/favorites/alerts. They mean the world to me. If you feel like sharing anything else, or have any other comments don't hesitate to click that little button at the bottom of the page :)**

**-A**


	6. 6: The Trials of Growing Up

**Fact: **In 1865, Jackson Haines, a famous American skater, developed the two plate all metal blade. The blade was attached directly to Haines' boots. In 1914, John E. Strauss, a blade maker from St. Paul, Minnesota, invented the first closed toe blade made from one piece of steel, making skates lighter and stronger.

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Trials of Growing Up**

_**December 3**__**rd**__**, 1921**_

"Golly San! Look!" Brittany's exclamation awakens you from your slumber. You're still incoherent, not a viable thing is registering within your brain except a blurry image of bouncing blonde curls in the near distance from your current position to your bedroom window.

You blink the haze from your eyes and find that you still rest, stomach down, upon the comfort of your mattress, your pillow molded to the distinct outline of your cheek.

When your vision comes into focus, you become more aware of the notion that Brittany is standing by your window. Her body emits an excitement that could rival the delight of witnessing a street parade as the procession marches on by down the Main Street. Brittany bounces back and forth on the balls of her feet and leans forward against the windowpane.

Sitting up and rubbing your balled fists against your eyes, you entice the sleepiness from them and attempt to bring a comfort back to them that you have lacked upon waking these past few weeks. Your eyes have become desperately dry and scratchy when you open them in the dawn and you are beginning to wonder if something has occurred with them.

When you have managed to properly banish that lingering blurriness from your vision you roll out of bed and pad softly over to Brittany's side, your bare feet cool against the creaky wooden floorboards. Brittany turns to you in marvel once you reach her side, the grin that stretches across her mouth threatening to split her face in two.

You smile back, feeling the dimples appear on the corner of your mouth where your cheeks indent. You only ever smile so truly for Brittany. You can tell that she has gathered this notion when her eyes soften and twinkle like blue crystal back at you.

It is then that you notice what Brittany had previously been so overjoyed about.

Outside your window, falling upon the Pierce house and the ground surrounding both yours and her house is a white powdery substance. It looks as though the clouds have fallen in tiny pieces and decorated the Earth's surface to provide purity and beauty to the world.

"It's lovely Britt." You tell your friend as your attention returns to her. She nods her agreement.

"If I was not more aware, I would think that angel's were responsible for such a thing." She tells you with a fleeting glance back out the window to the continuously falling snow. You cannot help but tilt your head in curiosity at your friend's words.

Brittany is eternally clever, despite what many individuals speak of her.

She is more aware and observant than anyone you have ever had the pleasure, or displeasure as the case sometimes is, of knowing. It is thus, when she speaks so, you become immediately enthralled with her words and innately interested in her underlying beliefs and thoughts.

Brittany smiles bashfully at your concentrated curiosity. She's far more than familiar with it, but you find that every time she observes it, she is terribly shy and adorably quaint about it.

"Do you ever think San that angel's enjoy the same matters as we do?"

Your smile softens, as you understand Brittany's inquiry.

"'Course Britt. If they did not, how would we ever have faith to enjoy them as well?" You reply and your answer appears to be more than pleasing to Brittany's ears. Her return smile is accepting, and you find you feel rather bold this bright morning.

"Besides, I do not think angel's are limited to Heaven. In truth, I am more than sure that I encounter them in my every day life. At least, I suspect that someone as lovely and graceful as you is born of some angelic nature."

Your words are quite frank and fairly gallant. You pray that Brittany does not perceive them improperly.

She does not.

With a quirk at the left side of her mouth, Brittany stretches her hand across the windowpane to where your own rests. You are expecting her to link your pinkies, as is common. You are not expecting her to gather your hand in hers and interlock your fingers. Nor do you anticipate the manner in which Brittany tugs on your clasped hands and urges you closer to her.

You stand a breath away, close enough to distinguish the exact tint of silver that flecks her iris and drowns in the brilliant blue shade of her eyes. Silver means happy. This silver, however, is so vivid and unusual to you that you know not what to make of it.

You will discover later on in life what precisely this distinction of this silver indicates.

Brittany studies your face, as your eyes remain gazing upon her enchantment.

Slowly the smile upon Brittany's face transforms to one of marvelous elegance, her forehead crinkles and the edges of her eyes squint. You almost laugh at how adorable she looks. Your reaction is forgotten in a tick when you abruptly recognize the signs of Brittany leaning into you.

Something tingles from the tips of your fingers to the base of your neck and your breath becomes unexpectedly lodged in your throat. Your eyes are blinking quicker than you can focus on any one thing and your nose fills with the aroma of Brittany, as her face appears so exceptionally close to your own.

"Britt." You whisper. The words are caught somewhere between a question and a statement, your brain is waging an internal battle with your heart. You believe you know what Brittany is attempting to do and you more than perhaps think you'd wish for her to carry it out.

When the connection is made, it is momentary and fleeting, but as special as a whispered 'I love you' from someone you care about and as beautiful as the moment the sun dips fully below the horizon blazing the Earth with magnificent red, orange, yellow and pink tinted hues. Brittany's lips touch at precisely the corner of your mouth, but if you were to smile or move your lips just a fragment they would be touching exactly.

A warm breath escapes the slight part that splits Brittany's lips as she pulls back from the touch. You are left bewildered and breathless, torn between leaning back into Brittany to relinquish the same feeling upon her and remaining in a blissful stupor to enjoy the emotions and feelings of contentment that surround you.

Brittany wears a smile similar to the one you witnessed before she leant in and kissed the corner of your mouth. You feel one of similar caliber stretch across your own. Without assessment of your actions, the fingers of your hand that still grip hers tightens and you pull her back closer to you.

You are not as courageous as Brittany, for your lips merely ghost across her skin, but the way that pale eyelids slide closed and veil blue eyes, and Brittany's cheek twitches under your lips, gives you the sense that she minds it not. It is even perhaps so that she enjoys it more, as she is aware you are not typically keen to personal affection.

Brittany, of course, has always been your exception.

Her eyes remain closed when your face returns to a position just an inch from hers, and when she opens them it is to direct her forehead against yours as she gazes into your own open eyes.

"I am only as lovely and graceful as you see me San. How I am perceived, in your eyes, is all that truly matters." Brittany tells you as she stares without fault into your eyes. Her tone is placid and soothing, the slow pace with which the words escape her is sweet like honey that drips from the hive.

You feel your heart beat that rhythm meant solely for Brittany and a content breathe escapes your lips. There are no more words that are spoken between you and her, as none are needed. You relax, comfortable and pleased because you are with Brittany and that is more splendid than words could ever do justice to describe.

The moment that you do both break from your serenity, it is done in stride with each other as often your movements, your words, your thoughts always are. Your hands remain locked as you and Brittany turn towards the window.

She speaks first.

"What do you say San? Feel like going round in the snow for a tick?"

You glance to your right and smile brightly at her.

"Anywhere with you Brittany."

* * *

How the both of you managed to escape the incessant watchfulness of your mother goes beyond your knowledge. All you are aware of is that Brittany somehow displayed an utmost skill in the matter and the two of you found yourselves bundled expertly against the cold and traipsing a path down the street towards a destination that at first remained unknown.

It was not until you and Brittany passed a house at the end of the street and your blonde friend glimpsed something in the house's large window that a course was solidly determined. She had turned to you beaming with a joy that rivaled the very precipice of excitement that you have ever witnessed.

"Oh San! May we do that!" Brittany exclaims as she bounces in her spot next to you, clutching your arm in both of her hands, a wide grin stretching across her face. The blue of her eyes radiates bright against the white on the ground and though her knit cap is pulled snuggly to shield her forehead from the snow, her cheeks are a rosy pink as the cold flutters across them.

You smile and nod, excited by her very own enthusiasm.

She lets out an excited squeal and proceeds to skip in place before her hand trails down the thick material of your overcoat and her fingers tangle between the gaps of your own gloved hand. She holds it firm and the two of you continue on your journey.

The reservoir will have not frozen over, the river too wide an expanse for such a thing, but you know of another small pond that may have become ice locked and perhaps it will provide you with the ability to present to Brittany what her heart most desires; the act of learning how to ice skate utilizing the metal blades that attach to the soles of your shoes.

You have not acquired the blades as of yet, but they remain another thing for you to procure if the pond you seek is in fact suitable for skating.

Though you greatly enjoy the private time with Brittany that is being allotted to you, at present you yearn for David to be here so that he at the very least may provide you with knowledge on where to obtain the skates that Brittany desires. You find it troublesome to determine their whereabouts by your lonesome.

"San, what about there?" Brittany inquires from your side, her hand is still held firmly in your own. You turn and look in the direction that she is glancing and find she is pointing at the town's general store that rests some where off a little in the distance. You suddenly become nervous at the notion that you will not be able to obtain the skates you need simply because of who you were born as.

It becomes difficult for you to remember that you and Brittany are of different skin tones and based explicitly on that you are also very much considered to have risen from different societal structures and classes. Brittany, being white, would have no trouble by herself obtaining help in the manner of attaining skates but with you by her side you have suspicions that the act will be much more difficult.

If not all together impossible.

You slow your stride next to Brittany. She doesn't notice until your hands pull taut and she gets bungeed back to you. She tilts her head in curiosity, undoubtedly bewildered by your uncharacteristic hesitation. It is not often that you pause for anything, except in regards to the safety of Brittany.

"What is it San?" She asks sweetly. Her voice saccharine enough to make you consider your apprehension, but you know that for Brittany's protection you must not.

"I think that I shall wait for you whilst you inquire about the skates." You tell her with an incline of your head towards the direction of the general store area. Brittany's eyebrows knit in confusion, as you knew they would. She is so pure and innocent and honest and good, she understands very little of the evil in the world. Or she understands it too much that she chooses to disregard it, in favor of happier things.

"If the shopkeeper sees me walking in with you, he'll snub you right well. I don'wanna cause you no rows Britt," you tell her softly, explaining in a manner that will ensure she sees you hold her best interests in mind. She shakes her head.

"The shopkeeper has no reason to snub me simply because you're with me. You're my best friend San, I'm not leaving you out here alone anymore than I wanna go into the store alone." Brittany tells you, her face a mask of determination. You release a sigh that rests somewhere between exasperated and heavenly delighted.

How fortunate you are to have Brittany as your very best friend. How fortunate you are to care for someone such as her, particularly when she cares the same for you.

You allow Brittany to coax you into movement again. You have the capacity to recognize that this could be a terribly dreadful idea, but Brittany by your side has always given you blissful courage.

Upon entering the store, Brittany one step in front of you, you hear the shopkeeper greet your friend in an utmost friendly manner while you keep your eyes low to the ground.

"What brings you in today little miss?" The shopkeeper inquires from over his galvanized counter. You know he has not perceived you yet. Brittany smiles brightly as she steps up to the counter, you remain a step behind her.

You are not crowding her nor are you even making an attempt to appear as though you are with her. You are trying to do all you can so that Brittany does not have her heart shattered by the cruel attitude of a rule garnered and prejudiced society.

It is not enough, for when Brittany talks everyone listens, and thus everyone sees.

"Well sir, my friend and I here would like to obtain some metal blades to strap to our shoes so that we may go ice skating." Brittany speaks, her tone bubbly and overjoyed. Your heart hurts at the thought of knowing that her happiness is soon to be dashed.

You do not witness the man's eyes on you, but you can feel them and you can surely recognize the sneer in his voice that replaces the once jovial tone.

"My apologies miss, but we don't serve your _friends_ kind here."

You can hear the cogs that run the wheels in Brittany's brain start up as they attempt to decipher what was just spoken to her. You swallow in fear.

"I don't understand…my friend is just as real as I am myself. Why would you _not_ want to serve her?" Brittany's voice is soft and delicate like your mother's chinaware.

"As I stated miss, she is not welcome here and I suggest you go elsewhere with your business." The man states and does not even regard Brittany a second glance before he is turning to assist another patron that has entered the store. You take that opportunity to glance up.

Brittany's face is flushed red with anger, her eyes are narrowed and there is a pulse that throbs at her throat like you have never seen before. You have witnessed the look on more than one occasion when it comes to Juan, so you are aware of what is likely to persist. Before Brittany can produce any kind of outburst you take her by the arm and lead her out of the shop.

"Not welcome here? Who does he gather he is anyhow?" You perceive Brittany grumble under her breath in white-hot anger as you manage to escort her from the store. You smile shyly at that. You wish more people would observe the world as Brittany does.

"Britt, it's alright. He does not bother me, I am quite used to it."

Her eyes flash to you and flicker with an almost unperceivable hurt. She frowns.

"That does not make it alright." She tells you firmly and you are smarted by the conviction in her tone.

You nod and smile at your thoughts. You lean into Brittany.

"How I am perceived, in your eyes, is all that truly matters." You echo her very own words from earlier back to her. She catches your meaning and a smile returns to her face. She nods shyly and releases a held breath, the anger dissipating from her body upon exhale.

"You are mighty smart San." She tells you and you chuckle. Stepping in front of her you offer her your full hand.

"You spoke the words first Britt, what does that make you?"

She giggles.

"More smart?" She asks, her face scrunching up because she is aware that is not the proper way to say her intended statement. She takes your proffered hand without hesitation.

"Genius Britt, you're a genius." You tell her and proceed on your path down the street, you have no need of pulling her along because she follows by your side without question.

You will go to the pond and you will find someway for Brittany to skate. It is the least you can do for the way she treats you so equally and wonderful.

* * *

It is interesting to think that when one situation lets you down (the shopkeeper and his closed mind) another may exceed your expectations.

You arrive at the pond with Brittany to find two things. One, that the lake is in fact frozen over enough to hold the weight of you or Brittany on it's surface as evidenced by the set of three boys who are attempting to slide across it. And two, the boys appear to be so much out of luck that they cease their attempts and shuck off the metal skates that are strapped to the soles of their shoes.

"Bright thinking there Matty." One of the boys yells out to another. You find he has a slightly paler olive complexion than your own and that the hair upon the top of his head is a mess of licks and dangles so much that it almost appears as just a solid strip down the center.

You are also keen to notice that the other boy this messy haired kid addresses has an even darker complexion than your own. His hair is dark and appears as thick and disheveled as Juan's does when he neglects to maintain it.

The third boy is taller in stature and though his skin is a color similar to Brittany's, though lacking the soft glow hers consistently shows, you immediately discern that he is of Oriental decent. You can tell by the sharp lines that define his jaw and the areas of his temples and cheeks around his eyes.

All three boys appear to be one if not two years older than yourself and Brittany.

"Get stuffed Noah. You didn't have no better luck." The darker skinned boy, Matty you think he was called, calls to the first boy.

"That would be _any_ better luck Matt, not 'no' better luck." The tall Oriental boy speaks up in correction of Matty's grammar and you chuckle, if he hadn't corrected the boy you feel as though you would have. Brittany's lessons have really burrowed deep within your mind.

Your laugh immediately calls attention to yourself and Brittany as you stand on the opposite edge of the at least ten yards in diameter pond. All three boys turn your way. Brittany grips your hand tighter and shifts closer to your side. You swallow. You had not intended to so unexpectedly garner their attention. You have not prepared anything that which you might speak.

"Well, well, well what do we have before ourselves here." The silly haired boy, Noah, speaks up puffing his chest out in such a manner it almost makes you wonder if perhaps he is sick or there is some other matter wrong with him.

"Easy Noah, it's just a couple of girls." Matty says by Noah's side.

"Couple of girls intruding on our pond."

Your face flares with anger at that and you immediately spurn defense.

"I see no one's name of claim or anything that would warrant ownership of it to you on the pond." You call back to the arrogant boy, seeing as how none of them appear to be white, you aren't necessarily breaking any rules. Except, you're a girl.

The Oriental boy chuckles at your words. It is not malicious or derogatory, but rather in agreement to you.

"She has a fine point there Noah."

"Zip your kisser Mike, no one asked you anyhow."

"I believe that San has a point." Brittany is suddenly speaking up from your side and you freeze in slight fear. You could get away with talking to the boys yourself, but with Brittany in the mix you fear for more than just a couple harsh words. Three boys against two girls, the odds are not in your favor.

"Hey I recognize you." Matty suddenly speaks up from Noah's side as he points in your direction and gets a fitted but ineffective glare from the boy. You stand stiffly next to Brittany, your hand remaining in hers as the darker skinned boy walks closer to the two of you.

"I seen you walking down Cork Street everyday after noon." Matty speaks directly towards you and you swallow the lump in your throat to answer.

"What's it to you?"

He chuckles.

"Eh Noah, this is that girl that walks to the schoolhouse everyday." Matty unexpectedly turns around and shouts back across the pond to the other boys who wait there. They share a glance between them before trudging themselves across the frozen surface.

When they are closer to you, you can discern more accurately that there is in fact a strip of messy hair running down the center of Noah's head, and that the eyes that the boy Mike fit on you are far kinder than any (besides Brittany) that you have ever witnessed. He smiles kindly at you before his gaze falls on Brittany.

You perceive a particular twinkle in his eyes that causes your throat to tighten for unknown reasons. You clear it.

"I don't see how my business is any matter of yours." You speak defiantly with your head held high. That's the Lopez pride your father always speaks of.

"Eh what a firecracker. She's a dream." Matty speaks up as he looks to Noah with a self-righteous gaze. Noah smirks his own back.

"The blonde doll with her ain't a bad looker neither."

The fire burns hotter inside you.

"Don't you talk about her like that!" You exclaim as you step forward in your typical defensive stance in front of Brittany. Both Noah and Matty immediately raise their hands in defense and step back lightly. Mike, on the other hand, steps towards you with a gentle smile and a neutral posture.

"Pay no mind to them. They don't have much for brains you see." The taller boy says and your eyes narrow at him. It does not slip your notice that he is making direct eye contact with Brittany, or rather direct glance her way.

"What'da ya say we have some proper introductions. Perhaps that would lighten the tension?" Mike then asks and you see Noah nodding out of the corner of your eye.

"Sure thing sport." He placates.

You roll your eyes at their insolence and grossly obvious immaturity. _Boys._

"I'm Brittany."

Well, that shouldn't have surprised you. Brittany never has had any quarrels about making introductions.

She steps out from behind you and to your side to shake each boy's hand and then turns to you with a smile.

"And this is my best friend Santana." She then says and you'd complain about her straightforwardness if you weren't currently finding it hard to resist. The way she looks at you makes anything from Brittany hard to resist.

"Pleasure misses." Mike says with a bow and you briefly swallow your pride to allot enough time to shake each boys hand. You cringe slightly at the way both Noah and Matty seem to caress it a little more than friendly like.

"Dandy for sure." Noah speaks up next and a nod by Matty confirms he has nothing intelligent to add.

"What brings you dolls out our way?" Noah then pipes up and you find he hasn't taken his leering eyes off of you since he released your hand. Brittany's chin rests on your shoulder as she leans into you from behind.

"We were hoping to go ice skating, but we couldn't find any blades." She tells the group as plain as day.

No quarrels with any social interaction as it were.

Mike's face lights up at the information.

"You know how to skate?" He inquires.

"I've never done, but I think I'd be fine at giving it a try." Brittany tells him with determination. You know she's not walking away until she does, which means that you aren't walking away either.

"Well gol-ee. We just so happen to have a couple sets of blades don't we boys? Care to join us?" Matty inquires. You're not quick enough to reply.

"Would we ever!" Brittany exclaims. You find it fortunate that she at least appears to want to remain by your side, holding your hand, as the two of you shuffle carefully back across the pond and over to the blades that the boys had discarded earlier upon your very arrival.

"Want me to help you lace them?" Mike asks directly to Brittany and you narrow your eyes at him.

"Actually, I only like when San helps me out." Brittany is quick to reply and her words warm your heart. Even more so when you glance the slightly dejected look that crosses Mike's face.

As you sit on the log bench by the pond ready to lace up Brittany's blades, Noah suddenly plops down in front of your and takes your own feet in his hands to strap a pair on you. You are quickly unsettled by his touch.

"If you wouldn't mind, I had intended for Brittany to help me." You tell him and his face too falls to a look of dejection. You wonder if there is something different in the water around these parts.

Though when you glance the beaming smile that Brittany shares your way, you care not for anyone else's reactions or feelings.

Once you have properly laced up Brittany's blades and she assures you it isn't too tight or uncomfortable, you allow Noah to help you to your feet and then you assist Brittany as she stands on her own. Mike wears the last set of blades and he moves out onto the surface in wait for you.

You turn to Brittany and take a hold of both her hands in comfort and support.

"You sure you want to do this?" You ask her, simply because you don't want her to feel as though she's obligated simply because someone offered it to her. That's how Brittany is and she despises letting people down.

She nods.

"I am, if you are."

You nod, how could you not be when she looks at you with such trust.

The two of you wobble out onto the surface of the lake.

* * *

Though your progress is at a snail's pace, you manage to catch up to the skill of Brittany. Though her grace still manages to leave you quite well in the dust.

Brittany, as it turns out, is a natural on ice skates. She glides across the smooth surface life a swan dances across a lake. The bottom half of her long frock coat, which covers the material of her wool smock, billows out like a brilliant and dazzling fan as she spins around.

The sight is mesmerizing, and more times than once you find your own actions halting simply to admire her own. (It doesn't escape your notice to watch Mike do the same thing. Nor do you fail to catch Noah and Matty keeping their eyes trained on you.)

"San isn't this splendid?" Brittany calls to you as she performs a magnificent looking spin at the center of the pond. You smile and nod.

"It's wonderful Britt." You tell her and you do not deceive her. You are truly having a good amount of fun.

It would only be natural for such a thing to not last as long as you would hope or desire.

Everything occurs so quickly that you have hardly a second to assess any of it. One minute you and Brittany are twirling around together, holding on to one another's hands as your eyes remain focused on your feet and watch your movement across the ice. The next minute, after you had foolishly allowed Brittany to skate a few feet away from you, you are watching a terrible scene unfold before you.

Brittany skates too close to the ponds edge. There are sticks and tiny pebbles that rest unseen on the surface and she is far too distracted to notice them before it is too late. You watch, helplessly from a good five yards away, as one of Brittany's metal skates strikes a larger piece of tree branch debris and causes her to wobble. You think for a moment she is safe and you begin to skate towards her.

Mike, who you know is only trying to do the right thing, skates towards Brittany as well. You are both a second too late.

Brittany's foot catches on another piece of stick on the surface and this time the debris causes her feet to be pulled out from under her. She teeters forwards and then fully slips and careens backwards towards the ground. She lands turned slightly onto the left side of her body.

When you reach Brittany, she has not moved from her position. You kneel by her side as best you can in your skates and hesitantly reach out to touch her immobile hand. Her skin is still warm, and as you examine her throat you can see where a pulse still beats steady.

"Britt?" You ask quietly, noticing that Noah and Matty have both joined you and Mike by Brittany's side.

"Is she alive?" Matty speaks up in wonder.

Before you have the chance to reply a muffled groan of agony comes from Brittany's body. You lean in further to her and brush her golden hair away from her face. Her eyelids slowly slide open and you are met with the sight of cloudy grey. She appears to be in a miserable amount of pain.

You swallow thickly and lean in closer, your eyes stare steady into hers.

"Can you move Britt?" You ask and watch as she accesses your question and then slowly nods. She begins to lift herself from her lying position and immediately winces in pain. You are quick to scoot closer and wrap your arms around her, much quicker than Mike.

"Where are you hurt Britt?" You ask. She mumbles something and slouches further into your hold. You realize that she is not going to be very coherent at the moment. You also recognize the necessary signs that point to her becoming worse if you remain immobile.

"Help me stand her up." You speak to the boys, selecting no one in particular. Mike is the first to jump to your aid. He gently takes Brittany's arms and lifts her. You watch, in stricken horror, as you notice Brittany's body seem to peel away from a jagged branch that rests sticking up from the ground. The tip of the branch is dotted in red.

"She's injured. Careful. Help me remove these God awful contraptions." You speak in a haste and turn to remove the metal straps still attached to your foot. Once you and Brittany are both free from the skates, you stand and walk closer to where Mike holds Brittany. You examine her side and find her coat ripped where it covers the left side of her ribs, stained in dark crimson.

Without speaking you stand in front of Brittany and move around a little until you can hoist her onto your back in a piggyback ride type fashion careful to not jostle or press against her side.

"You're going to carry her the whole way?" Noah inquires.

"What else have I to do? I won't leave her and she needs some sort of attention."

"I'll come with you, my father has worked with the medical practice in town before. Perhaps I can assist you in bandaging her up." Mike is quick to offer. You do not like the idea of him being anywhere around Brittany any more than is necessary, but you admit that you may be in need of his help at present. You nod to him.

You begin your trek back to your house, not bothering to say any words to the boys you leave behind, with Mike following silently at your side.

* * *

It is with great fortune that you safely make it back to your house with Brittany astride your back. Mike assists you in carrying her to your bedroom and lying Brittany on top of your mattress.

"How did you get caught up with a white girl?" He suddenly blurts out into the originally comfortable silence. You focus a glare on him. You hate his curiosity and the manner with which he speaks of your acquaintance with Brittany. As if it is not possible to perceive the two of you as friends, despite the obvious notion that you are, and very close ones at that.

"Her family lives in the house across the way. She is my very best friend and has been since the moment I met her."

Mike watches you with consideration as you slowly remove Brittany's ruined coat.

"You care a great deal about her?" He inquires. You think the question is silly. If it is not undeniably obvious that you care about Brittany, than this Mike boy is a whole lot less intelligent than you first suspected.

"I care about her more than anything else in this world."

It is unnecessary for you too elaborate as your answer, you feel, is clarifying enough. Mike makes to respond to you but a murmured groan escapes Brittany's lips and your attention and focus return entirely to her. You realize that you will have to remove most of Brittany's outer clothes if you wish to get to the wound.

You certainly are not allowing _Mike_ to be here for that.

"I thank you kindly for your assistance but I reason that I may handle it from here." Your words are clipped and laced with the irritation you feel boiling in the pit of your stomach.

If you had just been paying greater attention to Brittany, if you had stayed closer to her side instead of allowed Mike to skate near her, perhaps she would not be lying here now as she is. Injured and in obvious pain.

You blame a lot of things for hurting Brittany, but mostly you blame yourself.

"I can stay and help you clean her wound. I know the proper wa-"

"Thank you but I will take it from here." You interrupt the boy before he can speak another word. You set your jaw and gaze at Mike, you want him to be aware of how severely resolute you are.

He studies your face for a second before he thrusts the bandage he held in his hands towards you.

"Clean the wound with the alcohol and make sure you properly swab it and seal it with the sutures well or it runs the risk of becoming infected. And do not forget to administer the silver compound to her after."

You grit your teeth at Mike's words. As the second youngest of four, you have had your fair share of injuries as well as seen them. You know the proper procedures to take to ensure that Brittany recovers the best she can. You give Mike a stiff nod. He takes a few more moments before he finally exits.

Once you have Brittany free of her dirty, heavy and confining clothes and draped in her light cotton undershirt that stretches to just above her navel, you slowly peel back the side of the shirt to reveal the extent of the wound. You intake a sharp breathe as your eyes finally meet the cut on Brittany's left side. It lingers on the area at the front of her ribs.

In truth, the wound does not look as terrible as you first thought it was. In fact, the bleeding has stopped and the cut presents itself as a two-inch long gash that is probably no more than a centimeter deep. You suspect it bled so much because of the area and angle.

With great care you take your most clean towel and swab the area with the least distilled and complex alcohol you could find. The instant the towel touches Brittany's skin, she jerks and hisses out a noise of protest.

"I apologize Britt, the wound needs to be cleaned." You tell her as you lean over to look into her eyes. There are tears rolling down her cheeks but she looks at you with such acceptance and trust. She nods and you go to continue your actions.

"San?" Brittany suddenly asks and you glance back up her way. "Will you hold my hand?" She then says and your terrified state momentarily softens. You nod and reach your left hand out to take a hold of hers and rest it by her side. She slumps back on the bed and closes her eyes again as you continue your work.

After administering the silver compound to ward off infection, and wrapping the wound in a clean bandage, you gather a few garments for Brittany to adorn herself in. One is a loose button up top of your own, the other are a loose fitting pair of old drawers that David once owned but never used. They were too big on him, which means they are exceptionally large on you.

Brittany fits into them comfortably though, and it seems as though they allow her the room to freely move without catching her injury. She has become a lot more conscious since you fully cleaned the wound, and has even managed to speak somewhat coherently to you. You can tell that she is exhausted, both physically and emotionally so you waste no time in settling her into a comfortable position under your blankets.

You hesitate to lie near her, fearing you will bring her greater injury.

She seems to notice your absence next to her in your bed and starts looking around for you.

"San?" Brittany asks. Her voice is slurred and slow almost as if the words are one step behind the movement of her mouth and she's trying to catch up with them. Her eyes search for you and finally find you.

"Why are you over there?" She asks pondering your position near your dresser as opposed to near your bed. You feel the tears prick your eyes and you can't hold back the emotion that spills from them.

Tears free fall from your eyes like a waterfall, except not as marvelous and decidedly less appealing.

"I'm so sorry Britt. If I had not taken you to that pond and been so careless, you would not be in your current state of pain and injury." You choke out and drop your head into your hands.

You cannot believe how utterly preposterous you were about the entire situation.

"San," Brittany calls gently and you can tell that the tone indicates she wants you to listen to her, and listen carefully. You raise your head from your hands. She is lying in the bed but turned to face you. She motions her hand in your direction and indicates that she wishes you to step closer.

"I have pain yes, but I am alright. You should also be aware that I blame none of what occurred to me on you. It was purely an accident."

"But I-I…y-you were skating and I should have seen the sticks on the surface."

Brittany tuts in your direction.

"Oh San, it could have happened to anyone." Brittany tells you with such purity you almost believe it, but you won't.

"It happened to you though Britt. I don't know what I would have done if it had been worse."

"It was not worse, and it happened San. Do you know what would make such misfortune so much more wonderful right now?" Brittany inquires and you shake your head 'No' for the mere notion that you have not a clue as to what could make this better.

"It would be divine if you would join me in resting. I find that I cannot sleep without you near. Besides that San, I could really use one of your hugs right at present."

Brittany's words cause you to choke on an unexpected sob that gurgles up from your throat. You wipe the tears from your eyes and walk towards the bed. Your eyes ask Brittany if she is positive, hers respond to you saying she is and the way she throws back the blanket for you is an even more telling sign.

When you scoot in and adjust yourself, Brittany rests her head on your shoulder but does not twist her body into you. You still manage to hold her close.

"Would you like me to read?" You ask quietly, not sure as to what else you can do. Brittany softly shakes her head and her right hand absentmindedly falls to her chest and her fingers dance across her collarbone. Suddenly she gasps.

"My locket!" She exclaims and you remember that her locket hand fallen off during her fall. You are quick to soothe her fears and reach out to your nightstand to gather the handkerchief that you had wrapped the locket in.

"I have it for you, I kept it safe."

Brittany smiles gratefully at you and takes the jewelry, clipping it back around her neck with your assistance (it was most of your effort.) She smiles gratefully at you and whispers a tired 'Thank you'. Her eyes begin to teeter on the brink of closing.

"It is most special to me, do you know why San?" She asks in a sleepy tone. You shake your head in the negative. Brittany smiles.

"Foremost it is because you gifted it to me. Also, I find that I have come to greatly admire doves. They are beautiful and magnificent."

You can hear how Brittany is becoming less and less aware of her words and the situation around her.

"You're like a dove Britt, especially on that ice. The way you glided around was marvelous. It was like watching a dove soar through the air."

Brittany smiles even wider at your words.

"You resembled a dove as well San, you were splendid." She says and you feel your heart begin to beat its Brittany rhythm but you know not what words to speak.

What words would give her justice? There are none that exist at present in the American language.

Brittany takes a deep breath and lets out a ragged sigh, wincing slightly as her side pulls at the action. You hold her as close as you can without producing more harm or injury.

"Did you know San," Brittany speaks up once more and you turn your head to glance her fingers running over the doves that are carved into her locket.

"Did you know that turtle doves are said to mate for life?"

You have not words to reply to her at this moment as well. Though there is a sentence that you think can prove worthy at the moment.

"I think that I shall care for you Brittany for as long as I breathe."

She looks at you curiously.

"As infinite as the sky?"

You nod.

"Yes Britt, and as bright as the stars."

* * *

**So I'm a bit iffy about this chapter. I needed Brittany to get injured, it will be important later in my story, but I didn't want the injury to be too dire that she would need a hospital or greater medical attention-because that would involve bringing her parents into the situation and I'm avoiding that at present.**

**Anyway I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for your wonderful support and patience with the progress of this story! It makes me so happy that there are even a few people out there that enjoy it! **

**I heart you all and I will see you next time :) Feel free to tell me your thoughts!**

**-A**


	7. 7: The Best Thing is Always You

**Fact: ****During 1920s' Prohibition, moonshine (home produced alcohol or whiskey), also known as "hooch" was illegally produced, especially in the southern states. Producers and smugglers used a still for distillation and usually worked by "moonshine" to avoid detection.**

* * *

_**Chapter 7: The Best Thing Is Always You **_

_**May 25**__**th**__**, 1926**_

"San!" You hear the harmonies of Brittany's voice emanate from somewhere behind you. You don't have to turn to establish that the beautiful girl you call your friend is skipping to catch up with you. She's by your side a half tick later and you feel her warm palm glide into your hand and briefly enjoy the feel of her fingers tangling between the gaps in your own.

The moment is fleeting, her fingers untangle and her hand slides free, leaving only your pinkies attached. Even though, your heart skips a beat before promptly ramming itself against your ribcage and the entirety of the action.

Even the simplest of Brittany's touches lights your skin ablaze and sets your heart soaring these trifling days.

You don't recall precisely when it occurred, you have a mind to think that it has in fact been there all along, but somewhere along the way of turning eleven and then skipping ahead to fifteen, you fell even deeper for Brittany.

You'd always been sweet on her as friends, that you are aware of, but you are suddenly realizing that your feelings towards your very best and truly wonderful friend go deeper than simply a friendship. They do for you at least.

You can't explain the way you feel when you're around Brittany. While you have no quarrels admitting that being in her presence has always been the best part of your day, it has occurred as of late, that whilst in Brittany's vicinity you see, hear, and feel nothing else but her. She's like a magnet that draws you near.

A warm, wonderful, beautiful magnet.

You have come to the understanding that it is as though your whole world was built for and revolves around Brittany. You find that the notion does not bother you so.

"Ryder fancies you something fierce." Brittany says aloud from your side and you find yourself inclining your head towards her in question. Her mid calf length sailor dress, of navy blue, billows out from her body as she twirls back and forth by your side. She holds her schoolbooks to her chest like a shield and her hair swings from side to side behind her head where it is pulled nicely into a high ponytail.

You feel that you cannot fight the smile that stretches across your face as you examine the way her bangs fall to just above her eyes, highlighting the tranquil and calm blue of their depths that much more.

She is so beautiful.

Brittany smiles back at you coyly. She knows what you're doing, as well as what she's doing and as such continues to do so in an effort to always keep you on your toes.

"He told me not to tell you but he's just my brother and you're my best friend." Brittany proceeds to say and the words finally begin to register in your mind.

Brittany's brother, Ryder, is a kind boy. He's two years older than the both of you, the same age as Juan, and thus he no longer attends school, but you have on more than one occasion interacted with him in the confines of the Pierce home. (When of course both of Brittany's parents have been absent.)

He is shy and quite, much the opposite of his younger exuberant sister. His hair is also a light brown and his eyes green, which in itself sets him apart from the rest of his blonde-haired and blue-eyed family.

In terms of a pleasant gentleman, Ryder embodies everything a girl of your class should desire.

The only issue that remains is you only have eyes for another member of the Pierce family, and that alone is all that occupies your mind.

"I don't fancy Ryder." You reply to Brittany easily enough. You will mask your feelings for your friend, but you shant be ashamed to state your opinion on your feelings for others.

As you speak the words to Brittany, you contort your face into one of humorous revolt that you know will cause her to laugh. She does, and the harmonies of her angelic laugh inflate the joy within your soul.

If Brittany were not a constant staple in your life, you fear you would have turned cold, bitter and inconsolable a long long time ago. You are thankful to have her, even if merely just as a friend.

"Aww San, he's not that bad." Brittany volleys back to you in reply to your previous statement as she squeezes your pinkie in signal that she is in fact kidding as precisely as you are. She swings her hips and bumps them into your own, forcing you to fight back the dimple-popping grin that threatens to appear on your face.

"Ryder is abhorrent Britt." You say pointedly with a sideways glance to Brittany. Her most undeniably lovely face splits into an even more charming and endearing grin, her teeth show and shine pearly white in the springtime sun.

"You used one of my words." She says softly, a bashfulness suddenly overcoming her demeanor. It warms your heart like a cup of hot cocoa on a cold winter's night.

You are now more than certain you have said the right thing to Brittany as she only ever gets shy when she is truly enamored with something-or, in your case, some _one._

Your smile grows again to match her previous one. You think that you would be more than dandy to live in this bright, wonderful moment for the rest of your days.

"O'course Britt." You respond to her, your voice timid and equally shy. Your tone matches the way your lips form into a lopsided smile. The smile is one and the same that you always bestow upon Brittany.

You are enamored by the way that Brittany returns your smile, for it is one like you have never seen before.

Bold like the colors of autumn but bright like the springtime flowers and beautiful as harmonizing songbirds that hymn in the woods near your house. Brittany's eyes dart all over your face and you briefly consider that you witness them pause for a moment on the curve of your lips.

You brush it off as your own mind's cumbersome and wishful thinking. As if Brittany staring at your lips in desire were ever really an option in the least.

As her touch was previous, her gaze is fleeting and soon enough it returns to the sidewalk that you both travel along.

"If you don't fancy my brother San, who do you fancy?"

Brittany's words cause a mild surprise to overcome you. You had not expected her to say anything of the sort at all. Your attention snaps hastily back to her own. Brittany doesn't notice the way you so quickly turned your eyes back to hers, you wonder if she ever will.

_You._

Is what you wish you could tell Brittany for it has always been her and you're a sorry fool for it, but you can't help how you feel. The heart wants what it wants. It's just as well that she can't tell the way you feel just by a look, your more sweet on Brittany than anything you've ever coveted before. If she knew, that could change things.

She'd have half a mind to not be friends with you, and you couldn't live with yourself if you were the cause of that. You release a tired sigh, quite finished with the turmoil that filters through your body.

You begin to understand why there has never been a soul to consent that love is easy.

Even though Brittany's gaze has still not fallen upon you, you lift your shoulders in a noncommittal shrug in reply.

"I don't know really whom I fancy." You lie. You've become quite good at doing such in concerns to your feelings and Brittany. Lying has become the only thing your mind can process in her presence.

"What about Blaine Anderson?" Brittany inquires and your face involuntarily scrunches up into a look of distaste and displeasure.

Blaine Anderson is what many people consider the absolute darb. He's said to be a ladies dream. He's never done anything wrong, except be persistently bothersome, in concerns to you or Brittany, so he bodes well in your opinion. Even then, he is not really your type. (Going beyond the obvious reasons that he so very _not_ Brittany.)

"His trousers are always pulled up so high and he never wears stockings under them." You reason as an excuse. After all, the latest fashion for men is to wear stocking with their trousers.

Brittany giggles at your reply and your heart flips at the sound. You share a silly glance, both confirming the truth of your words.

"Finn Hudson?"

You almost instantaneously shake your head in the negative before she even finishes the name. Finn Hudson could not be further out of your desired type, given you had any interest in boys, if he tried.

Besides that, the boy is even more of a flat tired sap than he was four years ago.

"Finn reminds me of the Frankenstein monster. He's much too tall and the look of blank understanding that consistently covers his face is most amusing but unequivocally unattractive. Besides, Britt, he's still the oaf that affronted you." You tell Brittany even though you are aware of the notion that she already knows.

Brittany never forgets. She simply just allows things to be forgiven.

Finn Hudson, though he had treated Brittany like a bug-eyed Betty for most of their lives simply because her limbs grew faster than the rest of her, became rather sweet on the blonde the moment her curves caught up to the rest of her. She never noticed the difference. Brittany simply believed that Finn had changed his mind because no one saw her as 'unintelligent' anymore.

School has become easier for Brittany, but you knew that's mostly in fact because Brittany is undeniably appealing. She's a natural beauty, always has been. Her skin tone allows her to be considered high society alone, but her endearing attitude, optimism and never ending socializing nature make her quite popular with the other kids on the block.

Which makes you popular by association, despite the color of your skin. Even though you know that you are, in a word, considered appealing, you maintain a lack of general concern in the entire matter while Brittany's kind nature draws more and more of a crowd to her. (A crowd you often have to snarl and hiss at to keep their dirty paws to themselves.)

Everyone knows that Brittany is not to be trifled with, just as the fierceness with which Brittany defends you is well known. The two of you are quite the pair of stars, but Brittany always shines brighter.

You find that your inner thoughts have taken your concentration away from the current situation and when you look up you find Brittany staring at you curiously. You suspect she knows what's on your mind. She's always had a way with reading it.

"Britt, I don't like any of the boys you go to school with. They're just not my type." You tell her hoping she might forget the conversation and discuss something else. Perhaps it will turn to a discussion of the new book she carries by her side. You have a mind to think that she's probably dying to crack it open.

Instead of changing the subject as you had hoped, Brittany instead tilts her head at you as if in deep thought.

"Is it because they are white? There's always boys with your skin tone too San, if you want. Oh, how about Noah Puckerman!" She suggests even while making a face at the name as she does. You and her both hold very similar opinions in concerns to Noah Puckerman.

"Noah Puckerman is nowhere near the table of consideration Brittany Pierce, do not even jest." You say sternly with a point of your finger in her direction. She giggles again and nods. Her mouth drops open as if to reply, but she does not get the chance to.

"Well howdy ladies! Are my ears burning because I do believe I just heard one of you lot speak my name?"

You almost groan when you hear the distinct, slightly nasally tone of one Noah Puckerman. Turning to your right, you gather the boy approaching you in his usual disheveled wear. The strip of hair upon his head has become even more appalling in manner.

"Have a mind, Noah, to understand that we most certainly were not discussing you in a positive manner." You tell the boy as he comes up to your side. Brittany giggles, as she understands your words. A blank look of misunderstanding is all that covers Noah's face.

"You two are looking a might dolled up today. Got plans to go out on the town?" He inquires and you barely maintain the roll of your eyes that would signify your boredom.

"This is our everyday attire Noah, as you are well aware."

He smirks at you and crosses his arms over his chest.

"You in a dress? That is far from normal for you, Santana." He ribs at you and your eyes narrow almost instantly. While it is true, the dress you are wearing at present is a sight not commonly seen upon your form, the notion that Noah has the gale to point it out is exceptionally infuriating.

You had worn the red and white patterned sleeveless day dress for Brittany in particular.

"I happen to think that San looks absolutely dashing." Brittany's voice suddenly cuts into your thoughts and you have to blink as you look at her in attempt to determine if she truly spoke the words allowed or if your imagination finally got the best of you.

"No greater truth spoken Miss Brittany and might I say that you look wonderful as well." Noah says with a tip of his head and you realize that Brittany did in fact say those previous words aloud. You can't keep the grin from spreading across your face. Brittany steps up next to you and you are quickly reminded that she had been holding your pinky this whole time when her hand shifts fully to grasp your own.

A glance her way confirms to you that she is also well aware of her actions as she smiles back at you and gives your hand a soft squeeze.

The pair of you make no attempt to offer a reply or any sort of complement in Noah's direction. You are much too focused on each other at present.

"Well, I'm waiting for Matty and Mike to show up and well speak of the devil, there my boys are now." Noah begins to say and then looks off over your shoulder, having become rather put off by the way he has not garnered your or Brittany's attention. You turn to glance behind you and immediately spot two boys walking in your direction.

Mike has grown a lot in the past four years. He's slim and graceful much like Brittany and can often be seen wearing some type of tribly hat, or at times a wider brimmed white felt Fedora.

Matty walks next to Mike. He has also grown, and he carries a bit more bulk than Mike and Noah. Matty wears a proper flatcap upon his head most of the time, with a wool Oliver Twist type vest to match.

Both boys nod their greeting to you with a tip of their respective hats as they reach your and Brittany's side. Matty holds before him a mason jar filled with a substance that appears to be clear, he hands it to Noah who nods his acceptance and takes the jar.

In one swift motion, Noah unfastens the jar's lid and takes a gulp of the liquid.

"Oi, that's the cat's pajamas!" Noah crows with a hoot to match as the jar is leveled away from his mouth. Brittany turns to you with a look of confusion.

"Do cats wear pajamas?" She inquires with the utmost sincerity in the quietest of whispers. A grin spreads across your face. You lean into Brittany to whisper back, it's a secret between the two of you after all.

"Only if you want them to Britt."

She beams at your answer and squeezes your arm she holds with her free hand. The one currently not grasped in your own. You can see her eyes twinkle just a little as her head dips off to the side and her cheeks tint a marvelous pink.

You find Brittany's bashfulness exceptionally endearing.

"Right, it's swell Noah. Real copacetic." Matty replies aloud to Noah his boisterousness less apparent. Out of all of the boys, Noah seems to be the one to have least matured. He remains the same loud, obnoxious boy you knew and met four years ago at the frozen pond.

"Where'd you get the hooch from anyhow?" Mike speaks up from the other side of Brittany. You suppose you should have assumed he would have taken his place there, with his apparent belief it's where he is supposed to be. You try not to let your temper in the matter get the best of you.

"My pops came back from his time in the south looking for some dough, some real heavy sugar. 'Course I told him no, we ain't got no scratch for him. So he started spitting stuff about running bootleg hooch and how he'd return us with interest. He's likely blazing mad, but he left this jar of juice with me so I suppose there might be some truth to his chatter."

"You're a load of chatter Noah Puckerman." You insist with a quirk of your eyebrow. The rest of the gang chuckles at your joke. Noah merely shrugs his shoulder.

"Right you are Lopez." He says with his same cocky smirk that hasn't been wiped from his face in years. This time you do roll your eyes at him.

"Heya Britt, I was gonna ask if maybe you'd care to take in a picture sometime later this evening?" You recognize Mike speaking up quietly from the other side of Brittany and you snap your eyes to him, immediately ignoring the idle chatter that Matty and Noah begin to partake in.

Mike has a hopeful look on his face, and he's smiling down bashfully at Brittany. You can see a faint pink tint his cheeks and something pulls in your chest. You've never much appreciated the way Mike looks at Brittany. He's a swell boy and all, but he's too focused on your best friend for his own good.

Still, you remain silent. Brittany is more than intelligent enough to make her own decisions, and you'd never dream of influencing her. You find that her tightening grip on your hand to be feebly reassuring for you.

"Oh, I love pictures!" She exclaims and Mike's face lights up. You are mildly surprised, though not entirely so, when blue eyes turn and gaze upon you.

"Wha'da you say San? Shall we go catch a picture with Mike later?" She inquires to you and you alone and your heart swells immensely. You nod shyly in reply.

"Yeah Britt, I'd very much enjoy that." You tell her and she grins back at you. Almost as an afterthought she turns back to Mike.

"San and I would love to join you later. Perhaps we can ask the other boys as well?"

Brittany misses the way Mike's face falls when Brittany invites more and more people to the event that you suspect he had hoped would be just he and her. You, however, do not miss the look.

You have no quarrels with Mike, but he should know by now that Brittany really doesn't understand the way he's stuck on her, and that she views him most appropriately as a friend.

It falls upon you to gather Noah and Matty's attention.

"Hey you group of dewdroppers!" You shout and both remaining boys cease their chatter and turn their attention to you, with a lowered voice you continue, "Brittany has a question for you lot."

Brittany smiles gratefully as you impart the figurative floor to her. Noah and Matty's attention diverts to her as well as they recognize she is about to speak.

"Nothing too extravagant," Brittany starts to say and bounces a little on her feet, "San, Michael and me were gonna go to a picture this evening and thought it'd be proper to invite the both of you along as well."

As Brittany finishes her statement, you watch both Matty's and Noah's eyes filter over to your person and linger much longer than you feel comfortable with. In fact, you garner that Matty appears to be looking at you the same way that Mike looks at Brittany. Your heart almost stops at that thought.

That is entirely too much of a situation than you ever wish to handle. Before you can interject anything, both boys are agreeing that they're game to join the three of you at the picture to-night. Brittany smiles brightly at them before she turns to you.

"In the meantime, San, may we perhaps go for a swim?" She asks so sweet and innocent you find it causes a rabble of butterflies to rumble around in your chest. If you did not know any better, you would honestly think that at times your heart could soar away from Brittany's words.

She always says such splendidly wonderful things in the most lovely and captivating ways.

She captures the attention of a crowd like a circus performer captures their audience with splendorous acts and majestic occurrences. In awe and rapt concentration, as you always wish to know what will happen next. It never fails that all who listen to her, wish to know what Brittany will say or do next. And in her intricately beautiful way, she manages to always bring her consideration back to you.

She captures your heart like you've never known before.

"We may." You tell her and you notice that Matty is urging to say something. You are quick to turn to him. "Alone, no boys allowed at the reservoir while we swim." You tell him thinking up your very best excuse. You wish not to attempt to entertain any of their feeble courting or incessant chatter.

The boy's faces fall but you care not, for Brittany is already dragging you away towards the destination of your respective houses.

* * *

Over the years, the trip from your house to the reservoir has become particularly easy. Not only can you read the signs that lead the way, you can navigate to the water with your eyes covered.

Once more, everything is made easier when Brittany is the one by your side.

You are both dressed in your respective swimtanks with your spring day dresses draped over your bodies and blankets held in your free hands for drying off when done with swimming. Your right hand, as always, remains in the clasp of Brittany's left. She leads the two of you down the gravel path in a skip.

You reach the reservoir and are entirely grateful that it remains unknown to the rest of the world. It truly seems to be yours and Brittany's alone, and you relish the time and privacy it allows you with your friend.

You take Brittany's things from her hand and walk them over to the giant Oak tree that Brittany has also designated as belonging to the two of you. When you turn and face the water, you find that Brittany has already shed her dress and is swinging wildly towards the reservoir on the very rope swing that she used that first time she dove in so many years ago.

You chuckle as you watch Brittany release from the rope and pinch her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she splashes into the water with a smile on her face. She easily swims to the surface and it makes your heart swell with pride.

Your reading lessons, and the knowledge that came with them, were not the only things learnt over the years with Brittany and her skill at swimming shows the fruit of your lessons.

Brittany has very much become an exceptionally adept swimmer. Like all other activities that she endeavors upon, she looks radiant and remarkable as she reels through the water.

"Come on San! The water's the most delightful temperature!" Brittany yells from her wading position in the center of the reservoir. You grin at her and remove her dress from the ground, folding it nicely and placing it on your pile of trinkets before swiftly removing your own dress.

Yours and Brittany's swimstanks are commonly fashioned after the ones so popular with woman of the day. Modest, lightweight and entirely functional. They cover most of your skin, except for your arms and the bottom half of your legs. Though you would much rather not wear such a garment, you know that your mama would not fancy you ruining yet another set of rompers.

You're much too old for those child's bottoms anyhow.

You walk delicately and with caution into the shallow area of the reservoir, accessing the temperature and maintaining your footing. You find that Brittany has not led you astray, as she never has, and find the water is quite comfortable. You walk further in until the surface reaches the bottom of your chin and you push off the dirt floor to swim into the vast expanse.

It takes you only a few moments to reach Brittany, as she has been patiently awaiting your arrival. You grin at her and she grins back, both of you managing to keep your heads afloat just above the surface.

"You are correct Britt, the water is quite wonderful." You tell her and she smiles her everything smile. It's the one that's only reserved for you, you know that as the truth because you've only ever seen her use it in your presence. And Brittany smiles a lot, so if she had used it you would have witnessed such a thing.

It's her smile that tells you she thinks you are wonderful too. It also says that she knows she was right all along. You knew she was too just as well.

The two of you swim around, occasionally splashing water towards the other and playing improvised games of tag. Of course, you always let Brittany win, but playing the game and listening to her laughter fill the immediate vicinity always makes loosing entirely worth the situation.

After Brittany has had her fill of swimming, the two of you swim back towards the shore and tiredly shuffle out of the water. You dash quickly to your towels and bring one back for Brittany. She smiles gratefully at you and rubs it over her body. You can't help but notice how the sun glints off her smooth porcelain skin, focusing its rays down upon her as though she were born on Earth to bathe in them.

You sigh a little, knowing you are surely in the presence of an angel. You certainly feel that Brittany is one of Heaven's greatest creations.

Once dried off, the two of you wander over to your tree and pull your dresses back over your heads to cover your bodies. In a tired endeavor, you slump to the ground and fit your back against the tree. Brittany follows your lead and shuffles backwards until her back rests against your chest and her body is safely fitted between the brackets of your legs, which rest straight out in front of you.

She angles her body so that she is turned almost sideways to you and dangles her legs over your right leg before leaning her body into yours and fitting her head onto the dip of your shoulder, right where it meets your collarbone. She sighs and you watch as her eyes slowly blink closed.

"Will you read to me San?" She asks sleepily and her left hand comes up to rest on her stomach, but her fingertips stretch out to stroke across the material of your dress where it bunches at your stomach. You can feel every single light touch. Her other arm is wrapped back and around your waist, her hand resting gently on the small of your back.

"'Course Britt." You tell her as you place a kiss to the side of her head, inhaling the natural sweet scent that radiates from her golden sun dried locks. A smile appears on her face. It's the same one you witnessed earlier while in the water.

It's your smile.

You reach out to your left and grab the book Brittany selected before you departed earlier. H.G. Wells _The Time Machine_ has become one of her most interesting of books. She finds it entirely fascinating, and your find her enthusiasm a wonder to behold.

You begin reading to Brittany as she lays her head against your shoulder and chest and closes her eyes.

* * *

"_We should strive to welcome change and challenges, because they are what help us grow. With out them we grow weak like the Eloi in comfort and security. We need to constantly be challenging ourselves in order to strengthen our character and increase our intelligence_." You read a passage from the book and glance down to notice that Brittany has slipped into unconsciousness.

It does not upset you that she has fallen asleep. In truth, you find it exceptionally complementary. For if she was not comfortable with you, around you, and in your arms then she would be less inclined to fall asleep in them, correct?

Besides, it awards you the time to look upon and admire Brittany on your own time and without interruption from anyone else.

You take in the way her freckles have made their usual and prominent appearance across the bridge of her nose and just under the dip of her eyes. Her delicate features remain relaxed and content. The smile that is spread across her lips travels to the corners of her eyes, and you can tell that even in sleep she remains happy with you.

You find your eyes linger back to the curve of her lips. You've never seen lips such as Brittany's.

They are a marvelous pink, somewhere between a Poppy and a Geranium tint. They are not uneven like David's, whose top lip is bigger than his bottom. They are not cracked like Juan's. They appear moderately girlish, with a touch of boyish innocence. Like they are aware of whom they are but at times they still like to remind you that they can be more, but most especially that they are still filled with mischief and delight.

They are wonderful.

It is true that you had the brief encounter of feeling them when you were younger and saving Brittany's life. You truly never got the full experience, and you find now that you have become very curious as to what Brittany's lips would feel like. Not just the touch, but also the very essence of them.

Careful as ever, you lift your left hand and gently stroke the outer part of Brittany's bottom lip as it's fallen slightly from her mouth in a part to allow her breath to travel in and out of her lungs.

Your touch goes unnoticed so you become bolder in your efforts and trace the entirety of Brittany's lips, top and bottom. The feeling, soft and supple, under your fingertips sends an odd tingling sensation down the length of your spine. You trace the pattern again, this time trailing off from Brittany's bottom lip and gliding over the skin of her jaw and neck until you reach the edge of her dresses neckline where you finally pause.

As your eyes are focused at where your finger has paused, you do not immediately discern that Brittany's breathing has increased. You glance back up to her face and are a little startled to find tropical blue eyes focused raptly upon you.

The look Brittany wears is not one of fear or loathing or disgust. It is furthermore not one of curiosity or question. The look that she holds steady on you is one you have never been witness too, but you do notice the way her pupils dilate, the way her throat moves, as she seems to swallow and again the way a distinct type of silver flecks the swiftly darkening blue of Brittany's eyes.

You pull your finger back but Brittany is quick to raise her own hand and catch yours. She smiles softly at you and widens her hand to spread her fingers through the gaps in yours and interlock them. She rests the joined limbs against her chest and then settles back to resting her head against your shoulder.

For the length of Brittany's actions, her eyes never leave your own, and the color in them never ceases or disappears. You find that your ears and the back of your neck are quickly beginning to heat under her rapt scrutiny.

It is not that you don't enjoy Brittany's focus and attention; it is more so that you do not understand why she is focused on you as such. You cannot prevent the way your eyes flicker from blue down to pink lips and back up. You register a change in Brittany's breathing that briefly worries you before your mind begins to play images for you again, based on your wildest imaginations.

Your heart beats rapidly as you consider the nature of what your mind wishes to do. You've read about kissing. You've heard about it. True kissing, not the innocent pecks you and Brittany sometimes exchange. But the one's laced with passion and a tender kind of love.

On occasion you have been witness to your mama and papa partaking in the action. As well as David with his lady every once and while.

You have never done it yourself, seeing as how the person or opportunity has never made itself present. At least, not in so much that you were aware of.

It is thus that you find it moderately silly that you never considered that perhaps Brittany is a willing participant. You are both old enough to consider kissing now, who better for you to experience it first with than your best friend?

Except, you know that the manner, and the notion that the both of you are female, hinders your desired actions. You have no quarrels or worries of it, but as much as you understand about society you know that for one the fact that you are dark and she is not is already frowned upon. To add that you are as female as her on top of that would surely be looked down on even more.

You have no interest in seeing Brittany ridiculed as you are, but alas, the very thought of allowing yourself to kiss her will now no longer escape or be banished from your mind.

You find that your Lopez courage will aid you a little more today than you would have expected as you find yourself slowly tilting your head and leaning in towards Brittany. At your current trajectory, your lips should connect with hers in the briefest of seconds.

The only thing you can see is the way Brittany's eyes widen but then pale eyelids slide over blue, you can feel Brittany's body shiver slightly, and you can hear the sharp intake of breath that she appropriates.

You find that your lips first graze the very corner of Brittany's mouth. Where you know that her very kiss exists. It is such a beautiful feature upon her face, and you know that there are few wise enough to have recognized it for what it was.

The most perfect of slight indents you have ever seen, almost inconspicuous. There is no better kiss upon a woman's mouth and Brittany's the only one that has fascinated you so.

Brittany sighs a little as you retreat your lips from the corner of her mouth. When her eyes blink open a second later you smile down at her and she returns the smile before you find yourself leaning down again, this time your intentions are to connect your lips more precisely with hers.

It is a most unfortunate occurrence that upon the precise moment that you are to finally and truly kiss Brittany, there is a noise that rouses the both of you and causes you to glance upwards and into the tree branches. It is here that you witness the tiniest of kittens looking down upon you whilst producing a sad mewling sound.

Brittany gasps.

"Oh San! A kitten!" She exclaims as she sits up further in your arms. You can see the pout begin to form across Brittany's face as she realizes what you had already a few moments ago; the creature is quite stuck in its present position.

Brittany looks upon you and you know that she does not have to utter a word for you to rise into action.

Carefully, you stand up, after Brittany has safely clambered from your lap, and you begin to shimmy up the tree trunk that you have climbed many times in the past. The kitten is hesitant at first as you stretch your hand out to it but it must since the overwhelming desire you have to rescue it for when you climb higher it allows you to slip your hand around it's belly and bring it into your chest.

Brittany claps in excitement from her position on the ground and you carefully maneuver down to reach her again. You instantly hand the kitten over to Brittany and watch as it cries in desire of her attention and she smothers its kitten face with adorable kisses.

"Oh San, he has no where else to go." Brittany says and you smile. You knew the cat was coming home with you before you even got it down from the tree. If not for the sake of keeping it from harms way, for the sake of Brittany. (And really that's what you mean after all.)

* * *

By the time that you have returned to your room, a ball of fur tucked into the pocket of your dress, Brittany has already climbed across from her own room and rests in her nightgown on the foot of your bed. She beams when she sees you enter and you retrieve the kitten from your pocket for her and gently hand it over as you turn to change into your own nightclothes.

"He's beautiful San." Brittany says as she strokes the orange tabby cat's head with the tip of her finger. You watch as the cat purrs louder and louder with each touch.

"He is Britt, have you decided upon a name?" Is your reply and Brittany nods.

"Mister Wells." She says and you smile. You like the sound of that and find that it is quite fitting.

You shuffle over and hold out the other item that you acquired for Brittany and her, undoubtedly, new animal.

"We didn't really have much else." You explain as Brittany stares at the saucer of milk you hold and the little chunks of sliced beef from the roast your mama cooked last supper.

Brittany smiles gratefully and places Wells on the ground as you place his meal there as well.

"You suppose he'll be all right to-night without pajamas?" She inquires with a look of complete sincerity. You smile as you reach out and take her hand as you step towards the bed.

"We can get him pajamas to-morrow Britt, but yes he should be alright for to-night."

She nods and then scoots back into the bed and holds the blanket up for you to shimmy under. When you are situated on your back, Brittany slides up into your side and drapes her head onto your shoulder as her arm and hand stretch around your waist and rest there.

There is silence, except for the sound of Wells eating, for a few moments before Brittany speaks aloud through a yawn.

"I suppose the boys will have figured out we are not going to meet them for the picture."

You had entirely forgotten about those plans. You chuckle at the notion that Brittany does not appear to be disturbed by the matter at all, much like yourself.

"I suppose they will."

There's another beat of silence.

"You never told me which boy you fancied San."

Your heart skips a beat at her words, as you had not been expecting her to say that.

"I don't fancy any of the boys we know Britt and I don't need them anyhow." You tell her wishing she would grasp the true meaning of your words. She nods into your chest and exhales a breath across the skin of your neck.

You inhale deeply as you consider the next words you so desire to speak.

"Who needs a boy when I have you Britt."

She doesn't reply, you didn't expect her to and it is not required. You have told her, if only in code, what she means to you, and she has chosen to accept that.

If the way you can feel her smile into your chest and tighten her hold around your body tells you anything, it is that Brittany Pierce may truly only need you in her life as well.

* * *

**Still rolling on down the road. I'm trying to pour all my Brittana feels into my stories as of late because of the atrocity that is the show that starts with GL and ends with EE. It hurts watching my OTP not be together. **

**Anyway, sorry about that little tangent. I do hope you enjoyed this update. More and more things are starting to come together and happened for Brittany and Santana and soon even more things will occur. I hope you continue to stick with me through it!**

**Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and for being all around cool cats. If you'd like to share your opinion on this chapter, I would be delighted to hear it :)**

**-A**


	8. 8: I'll Always Be Yours

_**Fact: **__**A **__**silent film**__** is one with no synchronized recorded sound that consists of no spoken dialogue. In silent films that are made for entertainment, the dialogue is transmitted through title cards, muted gestures or by miming.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 8: I'll Always Be Yours**_

_**July 9**__**th**__**, 1926**_

You find that being fifteen is exceptionally better than being eleven and you find even more so that the excitement you feel on the eve of your sixteenth birthday is distinctly more exciting.

Being fifteen is exceedingly beneficial to you.

You find that not only are you bigger, though still quite small for your age, you are also able to do more things. Particularly, you are able to do more things without the escort of one of your older brothers.

Nowadays that is especially good seeing as how David is not around but once or twice through the later part of the week and Juan is incorrigibly bothersome at best and downright unruly at worst.

If you thought that your middle brother was bad when you were younger, he's even worse on the brink of eighteen.

As it is today, your mother has you, Juan and Rudy working on a landscaping task in the Lopez front yard. You are thankful that the months are not scorching like summertime and that it is cool enough to work without manifesting any manner of heat exhaustion and only a mild sweat.

You are knelt on the ground pulling the roots of weeds up from the soft soil when you hear Juan, who pulls roots a few feet away from you, let out one of his lewd and detestable catcalls. You scowl at the sound, which is a common occurrence from your ill-tempered brother when anyone of the female persuasion is near.

Despite your adherence to Juan's behavior, you find yourself curious as to who the girl he's calling on could be. Your glance affords you shock when you discover it is Brittany. Your shock quickly turns to awe as you gather her appearance in the springtime sun while she walks down the path towards your house with a bright smile on her face.

Even from a distance, you can tell that her blue eyes are gazing in no other direction but your own.

You swallow thickly in attempt to disperse of the lump that has recently formed in your throat.

There's another thing you find that you enjoy about being fifteen (almost sixteen) the fact that Brittany is right there with you. Except, you find, that when Brittany grew into her body, she did so far better than yourself. You've seen Brittany in numerous forms of dress, and in some rare cases less than dress, but you have never seen her in the dress that adorns her body at this precise moment in time.

You're almost certain that your heart has rendered beating.

The dress itself is the color of twilight, it's similarities display the hue of the sky when the suns dips just below the horizon. It's deep and concentrated but still provides a beautiful contrast to the pale tone of Brittany's skin. The hem of the garment reaches just to the center of Brittany's calf, making it surely one of the shortest dresses you have ever seen.

The main portion of the dress, a material mixture of breathable cotton and smooth silk, cover the remainder of Brittany's slim and delicate body in ruffles and tapered layers. The appearance makes Brittany look as though she is an angel in blue that has just descended from the heavens.

The sleeves are trimmed and just long enough to cover Brittany's shoulders, exposing the definition of her arms to the springtime sun. The neckline dips low on Brittany's upper torso and you find your eyes briefly follow the dip of the dress to the area that has recently become more pronounced on your friend's chest.

Brittany most certainly does not lack any curves in that area and you find that a heat makes it's way up the length of your spine as your eyes graze over the skin and visible flesh that rests upon Brittany's chest.

Juan's displays of appreciation quite suddenly make sense. They also spur an uncontrollable anger deep inside your gut and you make to lash out at your brother, first with words and followed by fists if need be.

As if he were reading the very thoughts in your mind, Juan releases a low almost inaudible whistle by your side.

"Whoo-wee Tanny, Brittany sure did grow into a fine lady. What I would give to get my hands on that." Juan speaks in a voice low enough for just you and anyone else in a five-yard radius to hear.

You turn to Juan with a glare.

"Don't talk about Brittany like that. She is far too good for the likes of you, and if you ever think of laying a hand or anything else on her I will bring you down myself. Do not think for a moment Juan that because you are my brother, I will be spare you." You spit towards your brother as the anger continues to bubble within the pit of your stomach.

The most malevolent of smirks appears across the length of your middle brother's face.

"You had best get it through your mind Tanny that girls like Brittany are meant to be enlightened by boys such as myself. The only one whose thoughts are far to grandeur for anyone's own good are your own. You're a girl Santana, and Brittany will always look at you as one no matter how often you dress yourself up in hand me down trousers and act as a boy."

His words spark an even darker hatred within your heart and you make to lunge at him. If your fists do not provide him injury you will make sure that your legs do. Before you even come in contact with the wickedly grinning disgrace of a brother, strong arms wrap around your waist and yank you away.

"Let go of me! I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born Juan!" Your voice is small but laced with a ferocity that you know cannot be matched. Soon you recognize that the arms around your waist belong to David, he calmly remains pulling you backwards and keeping you at bay.

"You'd best get on now Juan, or else I'll let our little sister go and she will surely knock you down a peg or so." David tells Juan firmly, the grip he holds around your body not relaxing.

Juan's face flashes with anger.

"Tanny's got no more right to anyone than me."

David's grip slips and you manage to jump forward and connect your fist with Juan's face before your eldest brother holds you back again.

"You're walking a thin line Juan and my loyalties rest with Tanny on this one. I'll protect Brittany from you just as fiercely as she does. She's not to be touched." David's words are strong as iron and definite as the destruction of a tornado.

Juan doesn't have it in him to argue with his brother. He knows as well as you do that he wouldn't have a chance of winning anyhow. With a lewd spit at your feet, Juan turns and stalks away from the lot of you and at the precise moment, Brittany appears by your side.

She is beautiful and lovely and splendid like summer rain but she wears a look of guarded concern. You know she was not witness to the words or actions that most previously transpired, but she's perceptive as ever and likely to ask or figure it all out regardless.

David releases you with a nod. You nod in return, grateful for his support. You've never spoken outright about your feelings for Brittany, especially the ones that have been growing so these past years, but you know he suspects. David too has always been perceptive, but particularly in matters of love. You hope that his devotion of loyalties to you also suggests that he accepts your point of view on things.

When he is gone you turn to Brittany who has waited calm and patient. She still appears nervous and apprehensive, like a newborn animal unsure of their surroundings. You offer her your most kind and genuine Brittany smile and it softens her a little.

"Are you alright San?" She inquires with the same delicacy she always displays in matters concerning yourself. You give her a slow nod.

"I am Britt. Juan was being his usual ill-tempered self. David set him right though and he shant bother us anymore to-day."

Brittany accepts your words and her innocent smile and carefree attitude quickly reappear in her demeanor. She stretches out her left hand and grasps your right within it. You look down and note the same soft contrast between your hands. A peach tinted white and a bronzed brown, you will never tire of that beauty.

With a tug, Brittany elicits your attention. You glance to her.

"I must speak with my mother for a brief moment, but after we may began our celebrations." She tells you, the left side of her face pulling just that much more than the right. You smile just as lopsided back at her.

"We don't have to start the celebrations quite so early Britt, my birthday's not until to-morrow after all."

She nods her enthusiasm and brings her face in desperately close to yours. You almost think she's going to kiss you, instead her eyes search deep into your own. Blue as the sky above you, but more marvelous than the very brightest you have ever witnessed.

"It shall be one of the best celebrations, and therefore should begin as early as possible." She informs you in a matter of fact manner and you cannot help but grin at her tone. She always makes you feel most special.

Brittany takes your lack of a worded response as agreement to her terms and thus takes it upon herself to expedite the situation by tugging you towards her front porch. Before she releases your hand and disappears into the confines with which you are not allowed, you manage to find your voice again and croak out words that have lingered on your tongue since you first spotted Brittany to-day.

"You look beautiful in that dress Britt."

Your words, and the notion that you have chosen to use the one 'beautiful', a rare occasion indeed, causes Brittany to pause ever so slightly and glance back at you. The smile she flashes you tells you she is very grateful for your words, but even more so the kiss she leans in to plant on your cheek says it louder than any words ever could.

"Thank you San. I wore it 'specially for you." She says quick as if nervous about her words, you don't get to question them before she turns away from you but you do catch the faint hint of pink that had spread across where her freckles commonly paint her cheeks.

"I will be right back." You hear her murmur, albeit a tad breathlessly, and smile to yourself. Perhaps Juan was less right than he ever expected. You sport a grin as big as the state of Texas as you lean causally against the rail connected to Brittany's porch and await her ever near return.

* * *

"I do not particularly like you spending time with that _girl_." You hear Mrs. Pierce through the screen door from your perch on the stoop. Your heart falls a little at her admission. You have always been wholly aware of the dislike and loathing both Pierce parents display in regards to you, even though you have never actually met either of them, but it seems to burn a little deeper when you hear the words so directly.

"And I do not particularly enjoy you referring to San as such a common girl or implying that she is less than reputable. She's one of the best people I know mother, regardless of the color of her skin, and I won't let an uncivilized opinion such as your own tarnish that. You can say what you wish about me, but I respectfully request that you do not say such things about Santana." You can hear the venom dripping from Brittany's tone.

You know she's likely to get more than a few licks for her tone alone, but her words are sure to garner her a right slap or two. You hold your breath and listen in wait; you'll be by her side in an instant if she requires it.

"You have always been so passionate for the strays Brittany, I fear that someday it will get you into more trouble than you can handle." Mrs. Pierce finally speaks up and your eyebrows knit in confusion at her words.

"She's more than that mother, and if she was all I had I would be perfectly alright with that."

You don't hear the way Brittany spins away from her mother and walks towards the front door with purpose and determination, but you do hear the last words that Mrs. Pierce calls to her daughter.

"Modesty is a virtue Brittany."

The screen door to the Pierce home is kicked open and you're met with blue eyes. Brittany looks startled by your presence at first, almost as if she was expecting you to be waiting further away, but soon her very best smile spreads across her cheeks as they warm with a hint of pink.

"'Tis a good thing that I have other virtues then." Brittany calls over her shoulder without so much as a glance towards her mother before she stretches out and takes your hand. Once again, the grasp she provides you is solid and complete. All of her fingers are fit between the gaps of your own and her hold is tender but firm, so much like everything else about Brittany.

With one last smile she makes to walk away from the porch, and tugs on your hand as she goes, you find that you are more than willing to follow Brittany anywhere.

* * *

Brittany's efforts lead you into town.

The first segment of your time is spent gazing into window shops and giggling at little things you both see but are aware that no one else really knows or understands. It's as though it were your own private game. Discovering the littlest of things and having someone else to discuss them with.

Brittany's observations are always well worth the extra time it takes to get from here to there. You adore the way excitement courses through her like a current and her eyes and face light up like the vibrant colors of the electric bulbs that adorn Detroit city's Christmas tree every December. Though, to Brittany's credit, her smile is far more splendid and radiant than could ever bring comparison.

You are halted in your stride when Brittany pauses before a shop window to gaze at the keepsakes within. She takes a precision evaluation of each item, from the extravagantly designed bird whistles and Flossy Flirt dolls, to the Olympic Flyer Wagon and Morris Code telegraph learning kit, to the pieces of advertisement describing the newest models of Velocipedes.

Brittany takes everything in and you watch contently as she does.

At first you feel as though this particular observation will remain just as such and Brittany will not regard anything in the shop window as a token she most decidedly must have, but then you glimpse something that you know Brittany will perceive of as high importance. It's tucked just to the left of the Felix the Cat clock, who's large but nonworking eyes stare at you as though they are aware.

You know Brittany has too perceived the item when she lets out the faintest of enthusiastic gasps. The grip she holds upon your hand becomes firmer and Brittany bounces a little in her place. You can already see the smile that adorns her face and you have not even fully looked upon her yet.

Before she bursts from joy at the prospect of acquiring the item in question, you squeeze her hand and look upon her with a warm and knowing smile.

"Wanna go and inquire the price of it?" You ask and Brittany nods her head so vigorously you fear it might detach from her head and wobble away. With an incline of your head in the direction of the shop you allow Brittany to lead the two of you in to view what her heart desires.

Not a pinch of a moment later, you and Brittany depart the shop with your newly acquired purchase. Despite the very notion, an exasperated insistence of Brittany that it is the eve of _your_ birthday, the purchase that is held in your very best friend's hand was made from your coin.

To you, the $1.25 it cost to purchase the item is only a diminutive percentage of your current savings. You have after all been saving every dime you get since Brittany's last birthday as you have something particularly special planned for her own sweet sixteen.

Besides that, seeing the look on Brittany's face as she holds the item in one hand and your hand in her other makes anything in this very world trivial to what you would do for her. That is the very nature of your feelings for her, and you wouldn't change it for nothing.

* * *

For some reason wholly unknown to yourself, you decided, for one terribly wrong moment in your life that listening to the words and advice of one Noah Puckerman was a good idea. It is not that Noah is exceptionally dim-witted. Despite it being a well-known notion that he surely does not encompass the most forthright intelligence, that is not what typically dissuades you from listening to anything he says.

Unfortunately, Noah is quite capable in the art of persuasion, even if his methods are less than reputable and often times down right sleazy. He has a habit of calling others out on their weaknesses and exploiting their insecurities.

All in all though, it is more so the manner in which Noah presents himself. Though still rather young, he stands tall and holds his chin high. His demeanor oozes confidence and that alone is often more enticing too most than anything else imaginable.

Confidence equals clout. Clout provides one with some sense of admiration. And admiration breeds attention. Attention is the very essence of getting what one wants, or in the case of Noah, getting someone else to do what one wants them to do and in the simplest of ways: by suggestion.

All of this off a whim of confidence.

It's preposterous, and you cannot believe you ever listened to anything Noah Puckerman and his over confident, bigheaded, and self-assured smug faced eighteen-year-old self ever said.

Then again, if it were not for Noah Puckerman, what transpires with Brittany on the eve of your sixteenth birthday, and the events that precede it, may never have occurred.

You and Brittany are leaving the confines of the general store.

The shopkeeper had of course ignored your presence for the entirety of the occasion, but your maturity and age allowed you to quite successfully look past his bigotry. Brittany's presence did also help alleviate your growing distaste for the man and his store, and her warm hand in the palm of yours also did wonders for your attitude.

You'd had a moderately successful endeavor and on top of the highly coveted item you purchase for Brittany, the two of you made your way into said general store where the both of you managed to procure some Hersey's kisses and a few Reeses cups to share. Brittany had been quite delighted, as she had paid for the candy herself.

"I know it is not much San, but I want to say I gave you somethin' for your birthday." Brittany tells you and you notice that her gaze averts from yours in a shyest manner. You cock your head at her in question of her peculiar behavior.

It takes a few moments but after a noticeable blush spreads across her cheeks and the tips of her ears pink, Brittany whispers out the next part of her sentence.

"That and I wanted to give you a Kiss." She says so quietly you almost miss it. However, you do not. Nor do you miss the way she holds her free hand out to you with a tiny little chocolate wrapped goody. You don't know the true extent of her words, but you will accept anything from Brittany in any manner.

You have a mind to believe that she means a little more than the chocolate anyhow, if the way she bites her lip in bashfulness as you take the candy from her hand is any indication. As you take the candy, you can't help but provide an appreciative glance back in her direction.

Sometimes you still feel as though Brittany does not realize just how much she gives you every day she's in your life, just by being her. You squeeze her hand and present her with your warmest of Brittany smiles.

"That's mighty swell Britt. Thank you." You tell her and receive her most beaming Santana smile in return. There is nothing more you enjoying seeing on Brittany's face than a smile, but most especially you enjoy seeing the one she fastens there solely for you.

Your leisurely jaunt down the sidewalk has been, as of yet, comfortable and silent. Of course, such things are always feudal in concerns to your time with Brittany. You enjoy a moderate amount of privacy, but it is quite often that you find at least one other person always making themselves known or keeping themselves around.

To-day, that person is Noah Puckerman.

He appears in front of you and Brittany from what you assume was the alleyway that he had been loitering in. A dark smile crosses his face. You've seen that look on him before. It is typically the look that accompanies an excessive consumption of his bootlegged hooch.

You tense immediately and Brittany is quick to squeeze your hand in reassurance.

"Noah." You seethe, barely, through your teeth. Your jaw is clenched shut and you can feel your temples beginning to flare with anger. The last thing you want to do is become caught up with this boy, not when you have so many things planned for your evening with Brittany.

"Well hello there Brittany and Santana. Fancy seeing you twos about together, except that it really ain't seeing as how you both are always together." Noah slurs and you find it grate on your patience even more so. If it were not so wholly improper you'd have a mind to give the boy a right swift kick in the shin if it would make any matters more enjoyable.

Alas, you know that it will not.

"What do you so require of us Noah, we are quite inclined to go about our time as we already posses more than one plan for the evening." You tell the boy and watch as a look you have never seen ghosts over his face before it is replaced again by his infuriatingly smug and exceptionally signature smirk.

"If I told you what I desired Santana I'd be likely to receive a solid slap from you lot. I'll spare my probable misery and request one thing from you." Noah speaks in a manner you have never witnessed from him.

"And that request would be?" You ask curious but not completely enthralled.

You notice the way Noah's smirk transforms into a smile, one that could almost be considered likable. Almost.

"That you accompany me to a picture show." Are the next words from Noah's very lips. They startle you at first, as you had not expected them, but gaining your composure you are able to reply forthright to him.

"It's San's birthday at midnight to-night!" Brittany interjects and you watch a look of understanding spread across Noah's face.

"Copacetic! Sweet sixteen Santana, then you have to join me to-night. It could you're coming of age, when are you ever going to turn sixteen again and have this opportunity?"

You frown at Noah's logic, considering that you'd much rather spend your evening with the likes of a rambling mad man than him, but nonetheless reason that perhaps a picture show is something of the sort that Brittany will enjoy.

"I shall not go anywhere without Britt." It's the truth and all that you know. Noah provides you a nod that suggests he accepts it as so.

"I figured as much. All as well, Matty and Mike are set to meet me at the theater in a quarter hour." He says with a shrug, his smile never dissipating from his face.

You contemplate the repercussions of endeavoring to such a thing with the likes of Noah, Matty and Mike. While they remain your closest, and only, friends in addition to Brittany, their incessant need to validate their boyhood makes you cringe in a manner indescribable by words alone.

Still, you can feel the elation animate from Brittany as she stands beside you and you have never been one to deny her anything. Reluctantly, though with hope of the knowledge that Brittany will be joining you soon, you give your reply to Noah.

"That would be suitable. Shall we meet you there soon?"

The grin that proceeds to adorn Noah's face sends shivers down your spine, and they are not of the same caliber of enjoyment as the ones Brittany often gives you.

"That would be swell. The show is at half past six." Noah supplies to you and you nod your affirmation. With a tip of the bill on his flatcap, he hastily makes his departure from your sight. You find your anxious breathing returns as Brittany grips your hand at your side.

"This is quite exciting." Brittany tells you and your curiosity gets the best of you as you wonder what precisely she means. You turn and glance upon her and she smiles radiantly back at you.

"I had hoped to take you to a picture show, but was unaware as to whether I had the coin for it. Perhaps the boys will offer to pay for us and we will get that opportunity to enjoy one yet." Brittany tells you with a coy smile that makes laughter bubble from deep within your belly.

You'd always suspected Brittany as one of intelligent conspiracy, and she has thus proved your suspicions to be true. It is quite the honor to have such a cunning genius on your side, even more so that Brittany appears to think the same of you.

* * *

You and Brittany spend the remainder of your time before the picture show toddling near the theater and perusing the shops fronts the district provides there. You laugh and giggle at the sillier displays and display a parallel admiration for the more extravagant displays.

Brittany is in deep concentrated focus of a particular set of gyroscopes in a window display when you hear a familiar voice call to you from the walkway. You and Brittany simultaneously turn to the figure of Mike, who waves at the both of you, though you are sure more so at Brittany, from down the way.

You don't wave back to him, as that is not of your nature, but Brittany kindly does so from your side. The two of you do not rush to approach Mike and the other boys, instead you and Brittany, to your very delight, make your way to them at a moderate pace.

As you arrive in front of Mike you notice his attention is directly focused on Brittany, however, before he has the opportunity to address her, Matty speaks up from the ticket booth area.

"Santana! You made it." Matty calls to you as he jogs over to your place of standing and leans in to give you a slight embrace. You try not to cringe at the contact, as it bodes as too heavy, too firm, and altogether not pleasant. The boy's embrace is nothing like the ones you share with Brittany, which are soft and gentle and sweet as chocolate in contrast.

You are thankful it does not last for very long. You are even more grateful to catch a glimpse from Brittany that suggests she does not appreciate Matty's actions anymore than you yourself. With a tight-lipped smile, Brittany greets both Matty and Noah and the boy's inform you they have already purchased tickets for the both of you.

Before you make your way into the screen area, you and Brittany share a look between the two of you that suggests you are not at all upset about the boys purchasing your tickets for you. When you enter the actual theater area, Brittany again remains by your side and is grasping your hand.

The five of you take your seats in the back row, and you find that Mike sits on Brittany's right and both Matty and Noah fight to sit on your left. In the end, Matty's brute size over Noah wins out and he triumphantly takes his spot in the seat next to you a moment before the screen flashes to life and the picture begins to show.

Halfway through the movie, as you watch Greta Garbo sit in a garden with the main actor of the film and discuss their desire to be together and exchange flowers, you feel a warmth spread across your forearm. At first you suspect it to be a light breeze that may have filtered into the theater area but when you glance to your side you are delighted to find that Brittany's delicate hand is making a path down your arm until she fits her fingers through the gaps of your own and holds your hand firm.

A glance to her face and the look that is displayed there warrants you the affirmation that such an action was done completely and entirely with intention. As you study the beauty of Brittany's face, and gather the way the film's light reflects magnificently off of her tranquil blue eyes and shadows play purposefully across her cheeks, you also notice how the smile she displays has not faded and her gaze from your own eyes has not strayed.

There is a certain kind of warmth that travels through your body at that thought. It is unfortunate then that you witness Mike stretch his left arm up and out to the left of his body, angling it as though he intends to place it around Brittany's shoulder. Your body burns with a different kind of fire at watching that.

The smile that crosses your face comes from absolute pleasure in viewing what Brittany does next.

Just before Mike is set to place his arm precariously around Brittany's shoulder, your friend, whom you remain in everlasting love with, tilts her head and rests her cheek against your shoulder and turns her body more closely into your side as she wraps her right arm around yours and hugs you near, her left hand never releasing it's grip on your hand.

Effectively, Brittany's actions both prevent Mike from his intentions and deter Matty from trying any of his own on you. You are exceedingly grateful for that but even more pressed for joy to have Brittany so closely clinging to you. You settle back and enjoy the rest of the picture show with a smile on your face that you are positive could not become any larger if you tried.

* * *

"That was a right waste of coin." Noah exclaims as the five of you walk away from the theater building in line to return to your respective streets and thus your respective houses. It has become just four of you, as Mike had to return home, reluctantly, after the show.

As Matty and Noah walk ahead kicking rocks and trading shoves, you and Brittany walk in leisure behind them hands intertwined in the same manner they have been since Brittany took a hold of yours in the theater. Words are unspoken, you've never needed them with Brittany anyway especially in regards to displaying what you are feeling.

In the case of her, the sure tender grip you hold on her hand and the warm smile you present every time your eyes lock is enough to inform Brittany of your feelings. As so much as the way she matches your gait and casually leans in every so often to whisper silly things in your ear is enough to inform you of her feelings towards you.

Although you are aware that Brittany may not possess the exact feelings as you, and most decidedly not near the same extent, you know that she regards you higher than anyone else and for now that notion has your heart flipping in excitement.

It is when Brittany leans in to whisper something about the item she holds in her free hand to you that Noah's excessively large and aggravatingly loud mouth speaks up from a few feet in front of you.

"Say Brittany, what you got there?"

Brittany's lips pause at your ear and an involuntary shiver runs through your body as she releases a breath in place of words. She blinks at Noah's question a moment before recognizing what he is asking her.

"'Tis a Fitzgerald book." Brittany replies, as she holds up the item in question. A snort escapes Noah's nose and you prepare yourself for fisticuffs. You are not afraid to fight him in honor of Brittany if it comes to that.

"A book? Ain't there ever anything else the two of you do? You're always reading. What's that about anyhow?" Noah proceeds to inquiry and your eyes narrow on him even more distinctly. Though you are aware of the notion that he cannot see you, it does not prevent your protective nature from making itself present.

Brittany lifts one of her shoulders in a shrug.

"I find nothing wrong with that notion. San and I enjoy reading."

You find yourself nodding at Brittany's side in agreement. The matter is indeed true, but you feel your body would subconsciously respond in favor of Brittany regardless.

"Reading's for schoolies. Don't you wanna do somethin' more with your life than learn?"

You do not particularly care for the tone of Noah's voice nor do you appreciate the words he is saying. Brittany does not need discouragement in the case of her schooling, for it is one of the few things that she is insecure about despite your ever-constant reassurance of the genius she is, and the notion that she is particularly successful in school.

"You'd better watch your words Noah Puckerman." You inform the boy, there is an edge of malice in your tone.

Noah raises his hands in defense as he shuffles around a crack in the sidewalk as he walks backwards down the path. You have returned to the residential area of Corktown and will soon be venturing to the fork in the road that will separate where you and Brittany must go and Noah and Matty will not follow.

"Easy Santana. All I suggest is that Brittany do something with a little more excitement. If the dull occurrences of that movie we just saw is any indication of how boring a life of no excitement can be, I merely desire to enlighten the life our dear friend leads." Noah goes on to explain as his signature smirk returns.

"Brittany does just fine with excitement in her life."

You think that will be the end of the discussion, you do not expect Brittany to speak up from your side in the matter.

"What's more exciting than spending time with San at the lake? Or skating? Chasing Mister Wells when he escapes? I've watched you lot play ball a time or two as well." Brittany says matter of fact and you smile slightly. She has a way with being directly challenging while not actually ever saying so precisely.

"Those are exciting matters for sure. But I speak of extravagant wonders that are rarely ever concluded. Thrills that few others have the notion to try, and even few who have that gale to complete them."

You find yourself quite curious as to what Noah may be referring to now. Brittany, as it would seem, appears to think the same.

"What thrills are there in the world Noah?"

With a bright smile that could hint at his conception that he has successfully garnered Brittany's interest, Noah glances around his surroundings and appears to spot something in a yard that you are all making your way by. Noah halts his progress and encourages the rest of you to do the same.

"Ever heard of a Gooseberry Lay?" He asks. You find yourself shaking your head at the precise moment that Brittany does.

"It's when a person steals clothes off another person's clothesline. Obviously the thief is not the rightful owner." You had almost forgotten that Matty was walking with you until he speaks up. You blink at him briefly and then avert your gaze when an adoring smile begins to spread across his face in your direction.

You glance instead at Brittany to observe her reaction and find that she is wearing a look of consideration. Her brow is shifted in a manner that wrinkles the lines on her forehead and her eyes squint out from behind her pale eyelids.

"Would that not be illegal?" She inquires and you find that it is an exceedingly well thought out question, one that you as well are very curious about. That is until you see the dark look flash across Noah's eyes just before he offers his reply.

"Only if you get caught." He says before he inclines his head to the left. Your eyes turn to glance once again upon the lawn that is adorned with a clothesline and hanging clothes several yards away from you, Brittany, Matty and Noah.

"I dare you to go take a few of those garments and walk away Brittany. Add a little thrill to your life." Noah speaks low and gravelly and it worries you to a point you've never known.

When you glance upon Brittany you perceive her gnawing upon her bottom lip. Her eyes are beginning to turn that murky blue, it is the very same color that reflects off the reservoir in the dead of night and represents for Brittany a feeling of fear.

"Brittany doesn't have to do a thing." You immediately speak up knowing that Brittany is far to kind to attempt it herself. Noah eyes you as if he is aware of your intentions and distractions.

"No San, it's alright. I…I'll do it." Brittany speaks quiet and hesitant from your side. Your heart constricts in worry at her almost terrified demeanor. You step up close to her and squeeze the hand that you still hold in reassurance and to gather her attention. When her eyes gaze into yours you smile calmly.

"If you wish to do this, I shall do it with you." You state and receive an almost relieved smile from Brittany and a barely distinctive nod.

"Alright." She states and the both of you turn back to Noah. With a biting tone you address the shorter of the boys.

"If we do this you leave us both alone about anything else."

Noah offers you a slight nod and allows you a moment to prepare for your next endeavor.

* * *

You told yourself that listening to anything Noah Puckerman had to say was the worst of ideas, and you were, not surprisingly, completely correct to think that.

As you and Brittany stole into the yard and began to remove clothes from the line, you had a feeling in your gut that suggested perhaps your actions were too easy. Again, your gut proved to be right.

You don't know how or when the police cruiser appeared on the side of the street that Noah and Matty had not been observing, but the distinctive whistle the black automobile's siren made readily got your attention. It takes less than a second after the sound is heard for the boys to scatter giving no regards to you or Brittany.

In an instant you take the clothes from Brittany's hands and push her in the opposite direction of the swiftly approaching copper.

"Brittany you need to go, run back home and stay there no matter what." You beg her but the look in her eyes tells you that she desires to argue.

"Please Britt, we can't both get in trouble. I need you to do this for me."

"B-but San-"

"I'll be alright and I'll see you soon, I promise." You tell her desperately hoping that the words falling from your lips are not as untruthful as you suspect them to be. With great reluctance and a tall figure ever approaching, Brittany squeezes your hand and then turns and runs in the opposite direction.

A few ticks later and you are being escorted back to the automobile and driven somewhere downtown, you suspect, to the town jailhouse.

* * *

You've never been in a jailhouse, and you've only ever seen the one's represented on the silver screen. As it turns out, jail is not at all what you expected. It is far worse.

For one, the cell you were placed in smells of rotten eggs and dried up sweat. The air is cold and pungent. Not a soul has spoken to you since the moment Officer Keaton placed you in your confines, and the only thing you have received from him is a stone faced look and an atmosphere of dread.

You don't know how long your body drifts in and out of consciousness as you lie on the cot provided in the cell, but you finally hear a voice calling into the space surrounding you.

"Awake, child, awake." The voice filters into your consciousness. You deduce from the tone and depth that the voice is male, and most positively belongs to a some kind of Charlie or another. It is rugged and authoritative while remaining calm and heartened. As you slowly open your eyes you are met with the face of a man, sans mustache, who cannot be much older than your own father.

His face is round but distinctly sculpted at the jaw, cheekbones and temples as though weathered from the trials of life and displaying those lessons in the very curves and lines of his skin. There is a five o'clock shadow upon the man's face but less hair upon his head. He is burly but not stout as if the extra weight he carries on his body was meant to be there. His eyes are dark but they do not frighten you.

You blink again and open your mouth to question the man only to find that your throat is so dry no words will escape. He offers you a kind smile as he places his large hand on your shoulder.

"No need to say anything. I am Officer Hummel, I've spoken to Officer Keaton and Captain Cooper and we have all agreed that you have spent enough time in here and are free to return home. Do you have a home?" His words are slow and soft, as if talking to a baby bird or a scared child. You would be angry at his assumptions of your weakness if you did not presently feel so weak.

Slowly you nod and carefully avert your eyes from his. You are aware of the rules.

"Alright. I have my cruiser all set and ready to escort you home. If you'll follow me we can be on shortly." Officer Hummel next speaks to you. You take a moment to gather his words and your strength and lift yourself from the cot. You wobble on tired and unused legs for a second but are quickly steadied by a firm hand. You walk next to Officer Hummel and exit the jail station a few moments later.

You only have to offer Officer Hummel a few words about the general neighborhood of your house before he proceeds in that direction. It is not very far, but the nerves that buzz through your body make it one of the longest trips you have ever taken.

"Officer Keaton and Captain Cooper informed me that you have little to say and did not even provide them with your name." Officer Hummel breaks the silence a short jaunt into the ride. You shift uncomfortably in your seat. You had hoped to avoid any kind of conversation. You've never really been one for words.

"They've been calling you Diabla. They suspect you have a short temper and fiery attitude. I have half a mind to believe that's not your name, and you're more inclined to be kind." Officer Hummel informs you and glances your way before continuing, "You can speak at me. I'm not going to harm you."

After a moment of contemplation you utter one word, almost in a whisper.

"Santana."

The man in the driver's seat offers you a small smile.

"Santana, it is a fine time making your acquaintance. You may call me Burt." The man says and you give him a minuscule nod that informs him you will, regardless of whether or not you have any true intentions of doing so.

"Tell me Santana. What's a nice girl such as yourself doing stealing clothes that ain't yours?"

You swallow at his question, which although asked in obvious disappointment still manages to be calm and kind as ever. You lift your shoulders as your sole response before deciding that this officer is possibly willing to listen to you without judgment.

"I never intended to keep the clothes." You say and watch as Burt gives you a look of question.

"Why take them then?"

At his words, the actions of the previous night-Noah's words, Brittany's fear, your apprehension-all come rushing back to the forefront of your mind. You bite your lip, partially in worry but more so in embarrassment of your flounder.

"I was challenged." You say, small and unsure. Now that the words have escaped your mouth you find how truly silly they are. Why in your right mind did you ever listen to Noah Puckerman?

"Challenged you say? There are other people besides yourself involved then?" Officer Hummel inquires and you have a suspicion of where his words of interrogation are leading. You're not about to bring any trouble to Brittany, and though you inherently despise him at the moment, you shant bring any trouble to Noah as well.

"Just one other person, I never got their name. The whole situation was daft of me." You speak, hoping that Burt will not question the gapping holes in your story.

You notice how the uniformed man considers you for a moment before slowing his automobile to a stop. As you glance out your window you notice that you are parked along the street outside your house.

"I hope this person realizes what a loyal individual you are." Burt tells you which causes you to swallow thickly at the lump that forms in your throat. Even though you don't readily know this man, he has been kinder to you than any other adult you've ever met, and you find yourself entirely unsure as to why that is.

"Officer Hummel, why did you help me out? I am grateful and all, I just…I guess I wonder why you would risk your job to help me?" You find yourself inquiring. The thought has been lingering in the back of your mind for a while now. You turn to find the man in the driver's seat giving you a kind smile.

"I have a son your age and he's a little different than the rest of the boys his age, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him. The rules of society are a load of hoodlum, just because someone somewhere tells you this or that doesn't make it so."

You don't think that you've ever heard anything so rational before, and coming from a white male makes it all the more unbelievable, and yet here you sit-in a police cruiser with an Officer of the law who has gone out of his way to help you. You think perhaps society is not all as bad as you had once thought.

With a small smile and a lump in your throat from the shear gravity of the situation and your inability to properly display your ever-external thanks, you nod to Burt Hummel.

"May I go now?" You inquire in a small mouse-like voice. Burt studies you for a moment before he gives you a slight nod.

"You may." He tells you and you do not waste another moment. You swing the door open and step towards the dewed grass that litters your lawn. It's fascinating how perspiration remains gathered even in the middle of a stifling summer.

"Santana," Officer Hummel calls from behind you and you turn to acknowledge him, "Be more aware of what you're doing next time. I might not be able to offer defense for you the next time around."

His words bury deep into your thought waves and you know you'll never forget them. You offer him a genuine smile and an incline of your head.

"Thank you sir, I will." You utter to him knowing the words are not much but gathering from the look on his face that he accepts them as genuine and sincere as you had intended. With one more nod in his direction, you make your way up the path to your house.

* * *

You are unsure of the hour of day that it is, though you greatly suspect dawn is near and thus make your way quietly and hastily through your house and to your room. Your entrance is silent and swift and you do not immediately notice the lump of a figure curled on top of your bed.

After changing into your sleep wear, you tiptoe to your bedside and observe Brittany-delicate and precious as ever-curled up in your blanket and resting her head upon your pillow. There are worry lines and creases in her forehead and a frown on her face. Her closed eyelids twitch and her lips move in silent murmurs. Her hair is messy and sprawled across the white of your pillow.

And yet, she looks beautiful and radiant and magical like a fairytale.

You are careful in your actions as you lift up one end of the blanket Brittany holds so close to herself and shimmy your way under its cover. The process brings the front of your body in contact with the back of Brittany's and you inch as close as possible, molding and fitting your dips and curves to the matching pieces of hers.

Brittany stirs and you hold your breath. You hear a mumble of words escape her mouth and her breathing changes. You can imagine the way her eyes suddenly snap open, and in the blink of your own she is wiggling around to face you.

"San?" She questions, her voice layered with sleep. The moonlight through your window casts an eerie glow across her face, but the blue of her eyes catches in the shine and sparkle. A smile stretches across her face as she takes in your presence. In the next instant, she has you wrapped up tightly in her arms and pulled against the warmth of her body.

"Oh San, it is you!" She blubbers, gasping and choking out a mix between a cry and a laugh. You imagined that she would be a bit out of sorts, but you never imagined her to be so beside herself. You hadn't realized this would affect her so.

"It's alright Britt, I'm here. I'm quite alright." You tell her as your own arms snake around her waist and hold her close as well. She chokes out a few more sobs and tucks her head under your chin, burying her face into the crook of your neck. Her nose is cold but her lips are warm as they press into the hollow of your collarbone and linger.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Brittany murmurs and your heart constricts at the thought that she would think this her fault. You squeeze her closer and press a firm kiss to her head.

"Tis not your fault Britt. I do not blame you, and as I said I am fine. Uninjured, though I remain quite tired." You tell her and you feel her shake her head as her face remains pressed to your body.

"I didn't know what to do…I was so scared and worried. I didn't know if you'd come back or where you were."

Her rambling is pulling at your heartstrings, you hate to think you're absence has caused her this much distress. You pull back slightly and look down into her red-rimmed eyes. Tears are falling silently from her eyes and leaving tracks across her flushed cheeks. You lift one of your hands and softly brush away the wetness with the pad of your thumb. Brittany's eyes flutter closed at your touch and she releases a shaky breath.

"San I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was never seeing you again, and I…I can't live like that. I don't want to be in a world where you aren't by my side." She whispers, her eyes still closed. Her words send a jolt through your chest and your heart starts thudding against your ribcage.

"Britt, I could never leave you either."

The words are spoken with every ounce of honesty you possess in your body. Brittany's eyelids blink open and you almost drown in blue. She studies your face for a second before the smallest of smiles tugs at her lips. She tilts her head to the side in silent question.

_You mean that?_

You smile back offering your answer.

_Always. _

"Bright as the stars." You murmur aloud, knowing she will hear you.

Brittany doesn't reply with a look or words, instead she leans forward and places the gentlest of kisses to the corner of your mouth. She holds the press far longer than any of the past and you feel your heart rate speed up significantly. Your hands clutch at the material of her gown where they rest at the small of her back.

When she pulls back, the smile she wears only for you is adorning her face.

"Okay." She says and you nod a silent 'okay' back to her. The smile on her face spreads and the left side of her mouth lifts just a little higher. With one more glance over your face, Brittany lays her head back down, tucking it under your chin and snuggling into the crook of your neck again. She releases a content sigh into the skin there.

A few silent moments go by and as you pull her closer and close your eyes to drift into slumber after a long and trifling day you feel Brittany's lips move against your skin.

"Happy Birthday Santana." You hear on a whisper.

You know that there are probably a few more things to discuss, and everything is not one hundred percent back to normal. But you can't help feeling as though this is perhaps the best birthday you have ever had. Despite everything else, Brittany is again in your arms and in your heart.

You couldn't think of a better way to spend your birthday.

Before you fully drift off into unconsciousness you hear Brittany's soft voice carry through the dark.

"As infinite as the sky, San. Forever."

* * *

**I offer my sincerest apologies for the exceptionally long delay on this chapter. Though, it is quite a bit longer than the others. Also, I am without a beta for this story again because my last one had other matters to attend to. **

**Now that explanations and what not are out of the way, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I continue to get exciting and amazing comments on this story and it makes me so happy that you all seem to like the way I'm writing it. I hope you continue to and I hope you decide to stay with me. It will be a wonderful journey for the girls. **

**By the way, the movie the girls saw was **_**Torrent**_**, a 1926 silent film with Greta Garbo and Ricardo Cortez. Look it up, it's interesting. **

**Thank you all so much! If you want, let me know what you think :) **

**-A**


	9. 9: With You There's Magic in the Air

_**Fact: The Charleston was a dance made famous in the 1920's. It involved a lot of swinging, kicking and tapping of the feet often from a closed position and was often seen in speakeasies. **__**Tap Charleston was the Charleston with breaks into open position to do tap steps.**_

* * *

_**Chapter 9: With You There's Magic in the Air**_

_**September 4**__**th**__**, 1926**_

A week before Brittany must go back to lessons, and two weeks before her own sweet sixteenth birthday, you decide to treat her to an early, and particularly special, birthday gift.

In the past few months, you've become bolder and bolder in your quest to present Brittany with the deepest of your hearts desires. The lingering looks and meaningful touches grow and increase as the days go by. You feel that you have no such insecurities in the matter of your feelings. At least not in concerns to how they make you feel.

You feel so much for Brittany, and there appears not a thing you can do about it.

You can't see anyone else when she's around. Her laugh brightens your day. Her smile can chase your worries away. You fall asleep to the steady hum of her breath and the tranquil beating of her heart. It's a rhythm that keeps you going and sees you through until the morning light, where your day begins anew with the wonder that is Brittany.

Brittany herself has been most affectionate towards you and with you as of late, and you suspect that she still feels terribly guilty about the Gooseberry Lay mishap that occurred those few months ago. You blame her not. You never held the capacity to. You never considered her at fault and you could never hold any resentment towards her regardless.

That is why to-day is such an important day. It is quite special and you want it to go splendidly for Brittany, as she deserves to know how much she means to you and how you could never hold any anger towards her for any reason.

You in particular are rather excited about your planned endeavors for the day. You heard rumor of a traveling Vaudeville show that would be performing starting to-day through next week at a theater in Detroit and decided that such a show would be a magnificent sight for Brittany to behold.

With the assistance of David, and his tired but functioning automobile, you plan on taking Brittany to the highly anticipated opening show, to-day. You've been saving any spare coin you've come across or earned by completing odd jobs for the housewives around the neighborhood specifically for Brittany and this very occasion.

Your body is humming in excitement with the notion that your plan for the day shall be quite the extravagant surprise for Brittany.

As you contemplate your thoughts, and continue to go about the detailed planning of your coming day, Mr. Wells jumps to the foot of your bed and meows in your direction. The sound of the small kitten's soft plead directly causes the sleeping figure in your arms to stir and you quietly curse the beast for disturbing Brittany from her peaceful, wondrous slumber.

Yellow eyes blink at you in indifference before Mr. Wells meows again, this time much more pronounced. Though he is tiny, he has the capability of projecting his meow quite far. You feel Brittany release a waking exhale of breath against the crook of your neck as she mumbles something incoherent into the skin there. You smile because you know she's comfortable and will likely not awake.

Your smile falters and something bubbles in the pit of your stomach when quite unexpectedly, Brittany's shifting causes her hand to slide from its previous resting spot upon your collarbone to rest between the valley of your breasts. Not to say you have much there, but nonetheless there is somewhat of a distinction that you are made readily aware of by Brittany's light touch.

The beating of your heart hastens and you can feel it thudding against your ribcage as you are overcome with a flushed tingly feeling all over the remainder of your body. An involuntary sound escapes your lips as it is pushed from your lungs when Brittany's hand next shifts slightly to the curve of your right breast and her other arm, which has remained wrapped securely around your waist, flexes where it is pressed into the small of your back. The action bunches the material under Brittany's hand and allows her delicate fingertips to ghost across the heated skin at your back.

You don't mean to have such a reaction to Brittany's touch. You cannot deny how the softness of her fingers upon your skin, even through the material covering your chest, causes reactions you have never experienced before in your life. You've heard them described, by David and the likes of even Noah, Matty and to your revolution, sometimes Juan. The intensity with which your skin burns at an even, low smolder that heightens your senses and sensitizes your every feeling is almost too much for any one person to handle.

The only thing you can properly do in response to Brittany's touch is tense up underneath her. This reaction, as you had not intended to create but expected it would, causes Brittany to shift awake as her body has so commonly been used to sleeping on a soft calm surface. You watch, holding the very breath in your lungs, as pale eyelids flutter open and give way to hazy, though exceptionally bright, blue eyes with tiny hints of silver flecks.

Brittany blinks once and then a smile spreads across her lips, the left side of her mouth quirking just that little bit higher than the other. The sunlight filters through your open window and alights the freckles on her skin like a sunrise captivating the breathtaking spectacle of a glacier-covered mountain. You've seen pictures in the books you're your mama covets, but the beauty you have witnessed does not compare to the one in your arms.

You think that if you were not currently holding your breath, it would surely be taken from you in this moment of splendor as you observe the loveliness that is Brittany.

It takes her no more than a short moment to recognize the hesitancy that your body exudes, and another moment still to notice the positioning of her hands, particularly the one still placed delicately upon the supple flesh of your breast. As her awareness comes to focus, Brittany's eyes immediately expand within their sockets and a blush spreads across her cheeks, spattering them a pretty primrose pink before she averts her eyes from you and begins to retreat.

You have no desire for her to feel wrong or embarrassed about the situation, seeing as how you realize that you yourself have no quarries with the previous occurrences, and thus hastily retrieve her retreating hands within your own and provide a gentle and caring squeeze of reassurance to her through them. You smile softly at Brittany, thoroughly intent on maintaining direct eye contact with her so that she may understand the truth in your words.

"S'alright Britt. I suppose I'm just comfy, you know?"

Though Brittany returns your smile, you notice she still appears somewhat hesitant and unsure of the entirety of the situation. With another smile in her direction, you sit up and wrap your arms around her waist pulling her close and placing a tender kiss to her temple as reinforcement of your acceptance of everything.

You feel Brittany sigh at your touch and relax into your embrace.

A few moments later, the both of you slip from the confines of your bed and stretch your limbs in preparation for the rest of the day. Brittany pets Mr. Wells on the top of his head, running her fingers soothingly through his short fur and scratching behind his ears until his volumous purrs fill the room. You collect garments from their different areas of rest upon your floor and watch in appreciation of your beautiful friend.

When Brittany examines her very best cotton day dress that you hold in front of her a moment later, she looks at you with curiosity and expectance. You smile because she knows that you know this particular blue dress of such a brilliant shade that it matches her eyes, with it's frayed white and gold trim, is only worn for very special occasions.

Brittany's eyes alight with even greater curiosity as she watches you pull your very best black with red trim day dress over your head and situate it upon your body. She's only ever seen you in this dress once before, and it was during your Quinceañera the summer of your fifteenth birthday.

Your mama told you that you look like a Puerto Rican princess in the dress and Brittany was quick to offer her agreement on the matter and thus you are inclined to believe that the dress looks swell on you and does wonders for your outward appearance. If Brittany approves of it, there is not another thing that matters.

"What do you have planned for to-day San?" Brittany regards you as you watch her curiosity bubble from her in waves of excitement and glee. You simply smile at her as you fit the red bow that matches your dress into your wavy brown locks.

"You will see in time." You tell her coaxing her into her own dress as you attempt to displace the overwhelming heat that spreads throughout your body as your eyes glimpse the dips and smooth curves of her porcelain skin.

While it is true that you have witnessed Brittany's body before, you have never looked upon it as you are now. With such an unyielding sense of desire as the sight of Brittany's skin has never caused this intense burn that radiates through your entire body.

Brittany has always been slim, similar to you yourself, but you find that her body has become exceptionally defined over the years. Her softness has transformed into womanly curves. The skin that covers her stomach has pulled more taut and presents a peculiar pattern of dips and lines that define the area of her hips and waist and the delicate ridges of her ribs.

Everything about her is as beautiful as it is graceful. She is perfection in its purest form and just the thought alone that you bare witness to this sight on a daily basis makes your heart flip inside your chest.

"What are you looking at San?" You hear Brittany call from her position a few feet away and suddenly you realize you have been admiring her unabashedly for the past several moments. Your eyes hastily avert from where they were focused on the curve of her waist and only briefly glance into blue. You find yourself swallowing a thickness in your throat that was not present a moment ago.

"Nothing." You hear someone say and realize that it is yourself speaking in a voice that sounds desperate and husky with a deep edgy rasp that you have never heard before. Brittany giggles at your reply, or perhaps the tone of your voice, before she spins in a graceful circle in a display of her outfit. You notice she spins to her right, as she forever must.

A slight sadness comes over you as you remember the occurrence that made Brittany unable to turn properly to her left. When she was injured at that ice pond those many years ago, the scar healed nicely but had produced a certain amount of nerve damage.

To a girl who was in the midst of her bodies most imperative growth spurt, her body developing and changing, the damage presented a problem as it fused together unevenly underneath the surface and Brittany was left with a tinge on that side of her body, unable to turn fully towards the left without a debilitating pain presenting itself throughout her left side.

These days, it is easier for Brittany to avoid turning that way at all-and she has adapted her lifestyle to accommodate her lack of ability, as have you. She never allows her injury to slow her down, and is often in fact better suited than many people you know in completing majestic turns and dips and bows. She could be a most elegant and splendid dancer if she so desired.

Your mouth curves into a smile at that thought, for if all goes well to-day, you may just introduce Brittany to a future she may be proud and enthusiastic about. Surely it would be one that would allow her to escape the confines of her wretched family and flat tire of a father.

Brittany must become aware that your thoughts have drifted because the slight pressure of her touch reaches your waist as she rests her hands there. Stepping up to you from behind and fitting her chin on your shoulder she presents you with a caring hug before she pinches your side and giggles in your ear at your flinching reaction. She dances away from your retaliation and you find yourself smiling silly at her adorable demeanor.

"Are we ready to go then?" You inquire noticing the way her body has a particular buzz to it as she waits and listens to your every word. A dazzling smile crosses Brittany's face and with a clap of her hands she nods her preparedness. You grin back at her and hold your arm to her as a gentleman would.

Her eyes glint with appreciation and you catch that spark of silver in them before she easily laces her arm with yours and waits for you to lead. With a curt nod of your head and a soft smile, you walk from your bedroom with Brittany on your arm.

When you step outside of your house, Brittany remains in close proximity to you, her arm never surrendering from your own. You turn towards her to glance her reaction and are delighted to watch as her face lights up even more than before as she views David's elegant looking automobile parked at the curb in front of your yard.

Brittany glances towards you with her lopsided smile and you know in that moment that you have never been more satisfied with your decisions in life. They have always led you to Brittany after all. Her smile turns soft and you find her leaning her face closer into your own.

"Is this for me?" She asks in a whisper so quite that you are sure she's almost positive this whole endeavor is just a dream. You squeeze her hand that rests on your arm, ensuring that she knows she is very much awake.

"Of course Britt. David has agreed to take us somewhere. It is your special present for your upcoming day of birth." You tell her and find your heart rendering its functions as Brittany's exquisitely soft pink lips press into the corner of your mouth. Your eyes close involuntarily and your mouth releases a pleased sigh at the touch.

"You're special...how do you say that in Spanish?" She whispers in your ear as her lips ghost across them and send a shiver through your body. It takes you a moment to comprehend what she has asked you, but you are not in control of your response regardless as the next words slip out.

"Te amo."

You don't have any time to consider what you've just shared with Brittany before she is whispering in your ear again and sending a shuddering tremble down throughout your body.

"_Te amo_, Santana Lopez."

You know she thinks she's saying 'You are special' but you cannot help the way your brain associates the real meaning of the words. You find yourself melting into Brittany's embrace, her words having never had such an adverse affect on you.

You only wish she knew how wrong she was and how very much you believe that it is her that is the very special one. Special to the extent that you would do anything for her, so special that you would give all that you are to show her as much. Special enough to love her more than anything else in this world, if only you thought that you could.

David's call allows you the opportunity to return from your dazed trance and your brown eyes glance in the direction of Brittany again. She remains gazing at you with a smile across her face as you utter an almost imperceptible 'thank you' before you encourage her to follow you to the confines of David's automobile.

As the two of you settle in the back and David takes his position in the front, Brittany does not release your arm from her grasp as she leans into you. As the ride progresses, silence surrounds you but you find that the way that Brittany adjusts her body to lay her head on your shoulder and moves her hand to intertwine her fingers with your own as she takes your hand in a soft hold has you not minding the quiet at all.

* * *

"Oh San this is the most splendid thing I have ever witnessed!" Brittany exclaims as she continues to spin jubilantly in a circle outside of the Temple Theater that bares host to the traveling Vaudeville Company and their show that you and Brittany are about to go and behold. She remains firmly holding your hand, and you quickly find that her excitement is beginning to expel in your own demeanor.

Outside of the theater are numerous street performers participating in acts meant to draw the street goers into the theater for the main show. There are noises and smells and sights neither you nor Brittany has ever had such privilege to observe. You find even yourself in awe of the spectacles.

Brittany is not yet aware of the notion that the street performances are not the only ones she will perceive to-day, and that is a thrilling concept that you hold most dear. If her excitement is this palpable before she has even fully witnessed the acts, then you may only imagine what it will be when you both proceed into the theater.

You're enthusiasm leads you to acquiring Brittany's hand in your own, and you take a quick second for her to respond before you turn and direct your course towards the entrance of the theater. Brittany throws you a curious look as you step to the little glass encased box area just outside of the theater's doors.

A man with curly hair, an exceptionally angled and prominently pointed chin, warm brown eyes wearing a bellhop hat and little red uniform complete with name badge that reads 'William' greets you as you step to the section in front of his window.

"Hello, and welcome to Temple Theater's Extravagant dazzling display of captivating Vaudeville splendor. Behold things more enticing than your wildest imagination!"

You did not believe it possible for Brittany's eyes to become any wider.

After digging in your dress pocket for the tickets, you pull them from their place and present them to the man in the ticket booth. He smiles kindly at you, tears the tickets and hands you the stubs. With a kind nod he speaks.

"Enjoy the show misses."

You turn and glance at Brittany to ensure that she is prepared to enter the theater. The way she squeezes your hand just that little bit tighter is enough of a reply for you.

* * *

The lights are low at first, producing a shadowy glow over half of the orchestra seating that you and Brittany make your way towards. You allow Brittany the opportunity to choose your seats for you both, as you could never deny Brittany anything that brings such a beautiful and dazzling smile to her face.

She chooses, that which you are not shocked about in the least, to sit in the center of the entire orchestra section of seating, three rows from the stage. You count yourself lucky that you had the foresight to arrive so much earlier as the task provided you and Brittany with exceptional seats for the same price as those who will be sitting in the balcony area will be paying.

Brittany continues to be unable to control her enthusiasm as she bounces in her seat next to you and you find no reason or worry to spoil that for her.

You find that you only wait for a quarter hour for the show to begin, and holding Brittany's hand helps the time pass in ease. When the lights dim further, Brittany squeezes your hand as an excited murmur trails through the audience. You glance once at Brittany to observe her reaction, and are taken back by her breathless beauty to a point you find you cannot look away.

Only when she too glances in your direction with a smile and a soft,

"Look San, flying dancers!"

Do you manage to avert your eyes from her features and attempt an effort to pay attention to the act that is beheld before you upon the quite elaborate and sprawling and decorated stage. As it would logically follow, Brittany's description of 'flying dancers' is a unique term for a set of acrobats that tumble, twirl, flip and spin across the expanse of stage.

Even though you become aware of the notion that this 'introductory' act is not meant to be anything too dazzling, as many of the theater patrons are still shuffling in and taking their seats, Brittany seems to enjoy the spectacles more so than any other type of entertainment you've ever seen her witness.

Perhaps it is the acrobats elegantly decorated costumes, designed with embedded jewels that catch and sparkle in the harsh stage lights and illuminate the front seating of the orchestra in such a manner you'd think the light a natural luminosity from the daylight sun. Or perhaps Brittany sees in their grace and magnificence what you see in her.

You settle in your seat, comfortable and at ease, but you find you pay far more attention to the splendor in the seat beside your own than you do to the regal performances on stage.

* * *

As the show becomes more deeply underway, you remain entrapped by Brittany.

Impassioned thoughts and feelings turn and tumble through your mind, your heart, your soul. They are akin to the manner with which a poet can eloquent his sonnets or a painter finds his muse. Though they both depict art unalike to each other, the central vision of both remains the same.

Deep, pure, inspiring.

Your feelings provoke the same within you. Everything you've ever been aware of or have come to know is clear and present and indisputable. The epiphany that you became conscious of earlier in Brittany's bedroom quite readily makes itself known once again. Though it would appear that now you have a much better grasp on the details of the notion.

You find that you are most certainly, without a doubt in this very world, most deeply and ever failingly in love with Brittany Pierce.

You'd known before that you held love for Brittany, but you find yourself amending that notion because it is not just a love. You are in love with her, and you are wise enough now to know the difference.

You could be no more scared of your most inner discovery than the acrobats you paid witness to earlier are of falling. Though you hold suspicion that the performers do in fact covet their lives, and proceed in utmost care and concern in the manner of preserving them, you also suspect they are aware that in the end there is always the chance they too will fall.

Much as you yourself have done. You've fallen so very hard.

There is another thing in which you have discovered. Love is peculiar. It is difficult and disorganized. But it is also passionate and essential. And there is nothing more that you wish to do than to share this with Brittany.

Sweet, brilliant, lovely Brittany.

Who with the quirk of her lips, the scrunch of her nose and the sparkle of her eyes give flutter to your heart and brings warmth to your body. Something settles inside of you as you study Brittany's profile once more. It is only fair to her that she be aware of your feelings, if only to decide for herself what she desires to do with them, or whether or not she possesses ones similar.

With determination, you vow to enlighten Brittany of the truth. You wish not to keep anything hidden for any longer period of time. Not from her and most decidedly not from yourself.

At the moment that you establish this thought, Brittany turns once more to face you. There must be some form of an immeasurable smile spread across your face as Brittany's eyes are drawn to your lips. Your heart thumps once loudly before it continues at a staccato pace. She returns your smile and her eyes soften with that unique shade of silver lining the iris in flecks.

Brittany tilts her head in curiosity when you remain silent, and for a moment the two of you simply gaze at one another. When her lips part open to speak you find your heart rate hastens to match that of a composers tempo.

"San I-" She begins to say but there is an enthusiastic murmur that travels through the audience, which prompts the both of you to turn your attention to that of the stage. A gasp is released from Brittany's lips and you find yourself in a state of awe as you watch a silhouette of beautiful dancers glide across the stage.

You had nod realized that the portion of the program labeled 'Act V: The Troupe of Charleston' with the added addendum of _The Abrams family will dance straight into your hearts_, would not only involve a group of six performers, three men and three women, dancing but very much involve these dancers completing dance moves that you had never before witnessed in your life.

The dance couples swing and turn across the stage, breaking away from their closed positions on occasion to swing and tap their feet against the hardwood floor in such a manner it produces a sectioned rhythmic beat throughout the theater. These performers are quite proficient in their technique, seeing as how they have the entire theater speechless.

You find yourself wondering why and how this particular act is not the headliner, and judge that if the way Brittany is so intrinsically mesmerized by the show she may be wondering the same.

As the act comes to a close, the audience gives a spectacular ovation to the performers, you and Brittany very much included. When you take your seat in wait of the next act, one labeled _Lady Barbara of York_, you turn to Brittany to discern her mood.

"That was quite spectacular Santana! They were so splendid and graceful. How wonderful it would be to dance as such." Brittany exclaims as she reaches out and grasps your right hand in both of her own and holds it close to her chest, a look of fascination remaining upon her features.

"You will dance as such one day Brittany. Your grace and beautiful will surely captivate the world." You return to her, genuine and straightforward. She glances to you with a look of reflection, as if attempting to garner the depth of your words. She must find what she was searching for as a moment later another gentle smile graces her lips and her eyes soften in such a manner you feel it likely to cause your heart to melt from its place in your chest.

That overcoming warmth returns and you try to hide your smile as you turn your attention back to the stage.

* * *

As the fifth act takes the stage you notice that it is not a woman, whom you had expected, but a girl and she presents herself in solitaire. She appears proper enough, and you would be inclined to believe she may be predisposed to successfully lead the show into the intermission your program foretells.

You find that you may have spoken all to premature about the act for when she opens her mouth and begins to sing you find your body overcome with a kind of distasteful shiver, opposite of the ones that Brittany provokes.

It is not so much that the girl, who cannot be older than Brittany or yourself, cannot sing, it is more so that in between her melodies you find her smiling at the crowd in such a forced and painful looking manner that it temporarily pains yourself. As if her she is more than fully aware she is providing a simple act and not a show for entertainment.

Your glance towards Brittany affords you with a similar reaction from her. The both of you sit and stare in wonder and intrigue, attempting to compose your opinion of the performer on stage.

You think that Brittany may be leaning in your favor on the manner, in which you wholly are not enjoying this particular part of the show and are possibly deciding that this girl may in fact occupy the 'falling star' side of the act, when she begins a song that you watch Brittany become instantly entranced by.

You've never heard such a song, and are inclined to believe that perhaps this Lady Barbara of York has most certainly penned herself.

"Cloche hat, I adore you most. The way you sit upon my head and bring comfort and warmth to my ears. Your wonder is more than anyone else."

You didn't think that your eyes could widen any further in their sockets, but they have indeed. You glance around the audience in your general vicinity and are relieved to find that the majority of them wear confused and befuddled looks as well. That is not the case for Brittany.

She is positively enamored. Her eyes sparkle, not in the same way they do when looking upon you, but in such a manner that you are confident to extend your belief that she is very much enjoying the performance beheld before her.

For the entirety of the song, most of which you find yourself tuning out, Brittany remains staring wide-eyed and hopeful at the girl on stage. When the performer has completed her act, she is met with scattered applause, but none so more loudly than that which comes from your friend seated in the spot next to you.

As Lady Barbara of York makes her exit at side stage, Brittany turns to you with a genuine elated smile on her face.

"This was truly the most wonderful song I have ever heard!" She informs you in her most sincere voice. You find that you cannot hold your bafflement away and it is replaced with a smile that quirks goofy at the side. Only Brittany could have that effect on you.

"Oh, San, may we go and find the performers during intermission?" Brittany asks you as the both of you stand from your seats and make to shuffle into the theaters foyer for your brief reprieve from the show. You glance at Brittany, hesitant to participate in such an action but the pleading look you find hidden behind Brittany's eyes is enough for you to nod your head in resignation.

Brittany smiles happily and claps her hands together before she reaches out and slides her long fingers through the gaps of your own, undertaking your hand in a warm and calming grip. Your heart skips a beat at the action and you feel a faint blush spread across your cheeks before Brittany is tugging you in the direction of the off stage area.

Somehow, you suspect it is in part due to Brittany's exceptional espionage skills, the two of you manage to sneak into the back portion of the theater and begin to make your way down the hall of clustered props, sets and dressing rooms. Her hand never leaves your own, and you have no intention of releasing hers.

"You two are not supposed to be back here." A deep baritone voice suddenly cuts into your stealthy exploration. You feel Brittany tense next to you, but manage to swallow your fear and the nerves that linger in your stomach to turn and view your addresser.

A man, slim in stature but tall in height, stands before you. He has a stout face, but a chiseled chin, and spectacles perched upon his distinctively large nose. His eyes are dull and brown, and if there were not noticeable laugh lines jutting across his cheeks, you would suspect the man had never smiled before in his life.

"We umm…" You begin to say and then find yourself at a loss of explaining how and why you and Brittany are invading this private secret side of the show. You do not have to think long, or really at all, for in the next moment a boy makes his appearance next to the tall imposing man.

His features are parallel to the man he stands next to, except that his eyes shine caring and clear. Though he is younger than you or Brittany, he holds himself in a manner that suggests he does not see himself as less mature. You refrain from giggling at the way in which he wears his hair, a part down the middle with both sides slicked to his head in a greasy manner.

"Father, they are simply curious to our talents. They do not seem as though they will bring much bother to us." The boy speaks. His voice is as quiet as the look in his eyes, which is shadowed by equally large spectacles similar to those of his father. You notice the boy's glance linger longer on Brittany, and you find your grip on her hand becomes more possessive as you grit your teeth at the matter.

"Oh yes, we had simply desired the opportunity to look around." Brittany speaks from your side. Her voice is it's extra sweet honey and sugar voice that would have bees trailing in straight lines for miles to follow the bright noise. The boy smiles largely at Brittany's words, his father does not.

"This is surely no place for an outsider. Arthur, will you be so kind as to show these girls back to their proper state of place." The tall, sullen man speaks and then turns swiftly on his heels to walk in the opposite direction. When the boy is done following the trajectory of his father's departure, he turns back to you and taps his foot. You suddenly remember where you had seen him before, or rather what you had seen him and his family perform earlier.

"You are part of the dancing troupe?" You inquire and the boy, Arthur, gives a sharp incline of his head in indication to the truth in your words. Brittany claps excitedly next to you.

"Oh your dancing was quite a sight!" She informs him and a smile overtakes his features once again. You do not feel that you like or readily welcome the look that he bestows upon Brittany, and you are angered to admit you have seen it before.

You have seen the look many times before, in fact.

It is the look that any boy who meets Brittany eventually develops across his face. It is the look of fascination and admiration. A look that when taken in context with these boy's undisclosed intentions and never ceasing leering, proves unfavorable to yourself.

Before the boy can speak in any other manner towards Brittany you pull her hand closer to you, and her body thus follows. You open your mouth and speak clearly for Arthur to hear.

"We had best be going now. Our many thanks for your assistance and well wishes to your success." You say and turn to walk away from the boy but find that Brittany holds you back.

"Wait, San, I wish to ask him a question." She tells you, pleading once again with such a pout that your heart clenches. You could no more say no to her than you could change the color of your skin. It is impossible.

It is Brittany.

You nod your consent and Brittany smiles and turns back around to address Arthur.

"Did it take you long to learn the dancing?" She inquires.

Arthur provides a shrug of his shoulders that does nothing for his appearance and lends you no further reason to like the boy.

"I grew up dancing, but practice is always helpful. All you must do is get the proper set of shoes and dive in. Once you understand the basics, the rest is just practice and precision repetition until you are able to do the moves with your eyes closed."

Though you find yourself loathing this small small man, you also have the capacity to realize that he provides some very useful information. Brittany smiles at him and thanks him before the two of you are delightfully on your way.

* * *

You have almost made it back to the foyer of the theater when something more catches Brittany's eyes.

"Look! San, there's the vaudeviller, voodooville…hmm there's that girl that sang really loud for a long period of time." She informs you, turning her attention to somewhere just over your left shoulder.

You turn to glance the girl, whose title had been Lady Barbara of York during her performance, standing off to the side of a scattered dressing area. There are vanity mirrors placed precariously about and bundles of costumes and clothes draped over every fixture imaginable.

The girl seems to hear Brittany's words and with a look of curiosity, makes her way dutifully over to where you and your friend stand.

"Hello. I am Rachel. Would you like me to shake your hand?" The girl speaks and you find that her voice is slightly more grating than it had been when she was singing. You stare at her incredulous, entirely uncertain as to why she has offered to shake your hand. It is as though she believes herself a bigger star than she really is.

Of course, Brittany holds other views on the matter.

"Oh wonderful! I truly cherished your song about the hat." She says as she grasps the small brunette girl's hand and shakes it about a few times more vigorously than you feel necessary in normal circumstances. Again, this is Brittany.

You find Rachel's face void of any understanding, despite her larger than average forehead and nose more prominent than a flashing marquee sign. It makes you almost want to laugh aloud at her incompetence. There are not many people who understand the genius that is Brittany.

"Oh, why, my deepest gratitude for your kind words. I heard you bare mention to the act of vaudeville." Rachel speaks in such an unpleasant and trifling manner, as though she says far more words necessary than those needed for her true meaning. Brittany's forehead scrunches at her words and she shrugs.

Normally, this would be a sign that one does not entirely care about what the other is speaking. In this girl's case, you find, it implores her to continue.

"It's vaudevillian, if you must know." Rachel speaks aloud in that same all proper and pretentious manner. Brittany frowns, possibly at the notion that she doesn't know why Rachel is telling her that and also at the tone with which the small girl addresses her. There is never a time where it is intelligent to speak down to Brittany.

"Aren't villains the bad guys? Why would you want to be the bad guy?" Brittany returns in true form, her face free of any indication that she is most undoubtedly mocking the singer. Rachel in turn becomes exasperated.

"Not a 'villain', it's vaudevillian. It means that I am a regular performer and part of the Vaudeville society."

Brittany simply stares blankly at Rachel for a good long moment of uncomfortable silence. The next moment she turns to you and in a stage whisper, speaks in the way that Brittany always has, truthfully and from her heart.

"Sounds like a villain to me."

You cannot help both laughing at the seriousness with which Brittany delivers those words nor the way that Rachel's face morphs into one of anger. At least, you suspect that she is attempting to be angry, but is rather failing miserably and in fact producing more laughter from yourself.

Before Rachel has the opportunity to address Brittany in a manner, which you suspect will be cruel and uncalled for, you raise your palm towards her face.

"There is nothing more you must divulge, miss, we will quite be on our way." You tell her, maintaining proper etiquette. Although Rachel bares a skin tone just a shade lighter than your own, there are still rules within society that dictate you must address her properly and respectfully, despite your very urge to do just the opposite.

It is Brittany this time whom pulls you and her away from any retort that Lady Barbara of York may have had. You find the both of you laughing and giggling joyously on your exit from the backstage area. Your heart has never felt better or more splendidly filled with delight.

* * *

It is five hours later in the evening that you and Brittany finally find yourselves at the doorstep of your house.

She is tired and drained of energy but maintains a bright glow that keeps a smile on your face as you carry her to your bedroom with her riding on your back, her cheek pressed into your shoulder and her eyes no doubt closed in exhaustion.

You set her on her feet slowly and with care and turn to hold her by the waist as she sways on the spot. You do not expect Brittany to open her eyes and gaze at you with a smile you've never witnessed before. Further, you find your breath hastily escaping your lungs when she reaches out and wraps her long slender arms around your neck and draws the two of you closer.

She leans in and again her head falls to rest on your shoulder. Brittany starts to sway back and forth and you recognize that she is dancing. She's dancing with you, as sweethearts do in those silent pictures you've seen. Your heart nearly thumps out of your chest at that thought and you pull her closer. Your hesitancy and worries that she will not feel the same fall away from your thoughts for a moment.

All you desire at this juncture is Brittany.

You feel softness against your neck and your breathing escalates when you realize the feeling is that of Brittany's lips pressed into your skin. When she pulls back, her head remains on your shoulder and her face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, but you feel a warm wetness blanket the skin there as soothing words travel up to your ears.

"To-day was more than I could have ever hoped for Santana." Brittany's sweet voice carries to your ears but the feeling travels in a shiver down your spine. "You've always been wonderful to me and to-day was truly magical."

You smile and the hands that rest at the small of Brittany's back pull her in impossibly closer to yourself.

"There's always magic with you Brittany." You tell her, never having felt you have spoken truer words. You feel her smile against your neck and her lips connect with that same spot as before again.

You think now could not be a better time than to share it all with Brittany. Maybe she's exhausted from the day, but she's happy and content and she's in your arms. How could such a wonderfully beautiful thing ever produce anything wrong or unkind?

"Britt I…" Is all the further you get before Brittany's voice speaks louder than yours.

"Te amo Santana." She whispers and your body deflates a little. Though you know the words mean love, Brittany only thinks of them as a way to describe how much you mean to her, how special you are.

You nod your head and squeeze her close, trying to push away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. If only you had had the foresight to not tell her such a phrase meant something else, because now you are unsure of whether or not saying the true meaning will ever mean as much to Brittany as it does to you.

With a heavy sigh, you walk the two of you to your bedside and discard your outer garments in favor of sleeping in light cotton slips. You help Brittany into bed and allow her to curl into you and drift off to sleep. You will suppress your feelings towards Brittany once more, for a while longer until you have the courage to tell Brittany that 'You're special' means so much more to you than just those two words.

That she means so much more to you than the life you can give her now.

"Te amo Britt. More than anything in this cold dark world."

* * *

**Sometimes I honestly don't know what's wrong with me! I love this story, I absolutely adore it and it's one of my favorite things to write but sometimes I just can't seem to sit down and do that. My apologies. **

**Many many thanks to everyone who is still holding on and loving this story! I can't thank you enough. And thank you to the couple of you, you know who you are, who are constantly up talking this story and encouraging me to get a move on it and update!**

**Also if you have any desire to learn more about vaudeville (which is pretty awesome) I can recommend some sweet sights and what not. **

**See you next time, hopefully it won't be as long :)**

**-A**


	10. 10: Call You Mine

**Fact: F. Scott Fitzgerald's **_**This Side of Paradise**_** was published on March 26, 1920 with a first printing of 3,000 copies. The initial printing sold out in three days.**

* * *

_**Chapter 10: Call You Mine**_

_**August 1**__**st**__**, 1928**_

You remember the day as though it were yesterday.

It hadn't been long after you and Brittany had returned from that spectacular Vaudeville performance, and your encounters with the vaudevillians Arthur and Rachel, that Brittany declared she would very much enjoy being such an inspiring performer.

Her performance of choice turned out to be dance, as you suspected it would be. And she has practiced it so, with you by her side, diligently for the last two years.

Now you find yourself having a hard time believing that another summer lingers to an end. Fall is fast approaching and you find that your last days enveloped in the blazing sun grow shorter and shorter.

Alas, one thing remains ever pleasant in your everyday as Brittany has remained true to her determination. You cannot believe that the time has passed far more swiftly than you had ever imagined possible, but every moment you have had has been kept in the company of the still shinning star in your life.

Every day occurs in the same manner. You awake at dawn with Brittany curled into you, in one of your beds-most typically your own-you rise, get dressed and take your desired promenade down to the lake.

Today, the morning is no different, but by evening you will find your life changing exponentially.

Brittany's laughter fills your bedroom.

It consumes you, completes you, it gives you a purpose in life.

You smile down at her, but you do not release her arms from where you have them pinned against your bed. Your gaze lingers upon her, and you notice without fail how beautiful she is. More so than before, and you had not expected that to be possible.

Her eyes gaze back at you, her laughter transforming into a soft smile. Her eyes still shine the loveliest blue you've still ever witnessed, a hint of experience and maturity lining them as proof of the fact that you and Brittany have both learned a lot in these past few years.

You watch, carefully, as her eyes trace a path on your face. It is pattern, the same one every time for the last couple years. Her gaze is concentrated and considerate, and it never fails to make your body tremble under its wake.

Brittany's gaze lingers longer upon the curve of your lips. It is another feat you have precariously noticed her completing during every silent and very intimate feeling moment the both of you undertake each morning. You swallow and hope that she doesn't' notice the manner in which your throat bobs at the action. The way Brittany's eyes drift down to the skin of your throat instantly tell you she has.

You feel your heartbeat pick up and thump against your chest, and again you wonder if Brittany is aware of it. Your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed when you become excruciatingly aware of a light touch against the thin cotton material of your chest, and you realize that Brittany's palm is resting over the direct area your heartbeats its _thump thump thump_ for her alone. You suppose the notion that her palm is resting against your heart answers your previous question for you as well.

"San, your heart." Brittany murmurs and your eyes slide open just in time to watch blue dance from your face to where Brittany's palm rests against your chest before they return to lock with your eyes. You turn your gaze away from her in haste, feeling the way your cheeks heat under her intense focus. You find that you are much too shy and self-conscious to look at her when she whispers so softly. Such a thing is likely to cause acute reactions, ones you are not positive you would be able to stop or reverse if taken.

"It beats as so when in your presence." You whisper on a last breath that only just escapes your lungs. You had not intended to admit such a thing, but find it easier to do so than attempt to keep it hidden.

Nothing else is spoken for a few brief moments, and it is not until you feel Brittany's hand glide up and curve around your shoulder, collarbone and neck and come to rest on the hinge of your jaw that you even realize she may have heard you. More than likely, she did indeed hear you.

When Brittany's thumb brushes softly across the heated skin of your cheek your eyes flicker back in her direction. Her gaze is even more focused and intense than before, the blue of her eyes darker and more vibrant. Like the energetic colors of a bluebird's wing, vivid and virtuous as they catch in the glint of the sunlight and paint streaks of blue gold across the sky. Brittany's eyes glow with the same depth and marvel.

Your throat becomes dry and the blood dispersed throughout your body rushes to pump loudly in an undetectable place between your ears. You can hear the rapid beat of your heart in the moment that Brittany's other hand rests upon your other cheek and holds your face firmly in the palm of her hands. For a moment your eyes dip to the locket that rests calmly against the skin visible on her neck. You smile briefly at the memory of why it dangles there.

You would bet a pretty fin that Brittany has something peculiar tucked up her sleeve by the way her smile widens as her eyes land on your lips. She shuffles below you, only making you more aware of how close and how tender your bodies are most currently positioned. You hear Brittany take a deep breath and close your eyes, somewhat fearful of what will happen if they remain open.

You wish not to shatter any present illusions, if that be what they in fact are, by witnessing a moment of the next occurrence. With your eyes closed, however, you find the rest of your senses are heightened and along with the solid rapid thump of Brittany's heart that you discern, matching a rhythm close to your own, you also distinguish a distinct footstep of someone on the stairs just outside your bedroom.

In haste, your eyes snap open and your body is removed from atop of Brittany's. You hear her gasp, in protest or surprise you are unsure, but you leave her nor yourself any time to reckon that before you are gently pulling Brittany from the bed and to her feet.

Before you hear the creaking of the floorboards beyond your bedroom door, or the squeaky twang of the metal doorknob turning, you grasp Brittany in your arms in a formal dance. Your eyes glance upon her in apology and remorse. If there were another way for you to approach the situation you would gladly do so. Brittany is kind enough to offer you a warm and understanding smile, and you adore her even more for her actions.

When the door is swung open and a silhouette lights the far wall of the tiny of your bedroom, you hold Brittany in a caring and close embrace. You are relieved to see that the intruder is David, who has always been most understanding and nurturing of your feelings towards Brittany, and you relax subtly in Brittany's arms. Dancing, particularly between the two of you is not an unusual act to witness.

"Ah Tanny, Brittany is over. That is well. That is well." David addresses the two of you with one of his exceptionally bright smiles. They always seem to twinkle just a hint, as if stars were hidden in the very gaps of each perfectly sculpted piece of white enamel.

You turn to David and slow the sway that you and Brittany were performing, you make it an effort not to release Brittany or loosen your hold upon her in any way.

"Why would that be dear brother?" You inquire and hear Brittany giggle softly at your words. It causes a smile to stretch across your face and David immediately returns to you a desperately knowing look. You make an effort not to roll your eyes.

"Mama says that Papa is bringing home a cut of steaks and Mama wants to cook them on that new briquette whatcha majigger that papa brought home. She wants us all to come down and have a time together." David explains and you glance towards Brittany once more to determine her reaction. She smiles wide at you and her eyes light up in delight. The way she draws the corner of her lip into her mouth is clear indication she would very much enjoy such an endeavor.

"Brittany's invited of course." David amends, knowing that you would go no place without her. With a smile and a nod, you agree to join your family for this sure to be unique supper. Brittany taking a hold of your hand ensures that you will not be for lack of a good time in the least.

* * *

"How do you say 'My name is?' Me namo eh?" Brittany inquires and you watch as her face scrunches adorably and her eyebrows knit in concentration. At present she is sitting comfortable in your lap, twisted to the side so that her long legs dangle off the side of your lap. Your hands rest one across her legs and at the small of her back, keeping her in position and preventing her from falling.

You will, for as long as you so live, tell yourself that is all the reason your hands are placed as such.

When you and Brittany joined the rest of your family, sans Juan who had other matters to attend to, some quarter hour ago, your papa had just returned home from his most recent endeavors and your mama had thrown charcoal on the briquette to start the flames for cooking. You had taken a seat in one of the three lawn chairs and quickly realized that David and Rudy would take up the others. You had been at the juncture of standing to give Brittany your seat when your friend had pushed you back into your chair and taken her own seat upon your lap.

You had tried to will away the heat that immediately flushed to your face, sending a glare to you brothers' as they had not so successfully stifled their laughter. Brittany hadn't seemed to mind one bit as she had placed her arms around your neck and shoulders and snuggled in close to you. An instant later she was inquiring that you help her learn more Spanish. After all, she figured at this point in time it would be best to learn as much as she could, seeing as how she was practically a part of your family and all anyhow.

You are almost certain your heart had skipped three successive beats at her words of family and then fluttered like a hummingbird a moment later. You had quickly and readily complied with Brittany's request, bent on disregarding the not so subtle taunts that David threw in your direction at your quick and unhindered agreement and willingness to do what Brittany had requested of you.

You could never say 'No' to her. That word exists not in your vocabulary, particularly regarding Brittany.

You blink and return to present, recognizing that Brittany has posed a question to you. You clear your throat and glance up to where she looks down upon you, her eyes sparkling with certain mirth and a hint of perception. Your cheeks heat again, and you could be sure you'd fry an egg on them if someone made the attempt.

"Close Britt. You would want to say Me llamo Brittany." You tell her and watch as she works the words over with her tongue, making your best effort to not become distracted by the action. It doesn't take very long for Brittany to fully grasp the phrase of saying her name, and in the moments following she begins say everyone else's names, receiving a sequence of joyful laughter as she does.

By the time that your mama has finished cooking the steaks and is ushering everyone to the picnic table your papa fashioned together last summer, Brittany has successfully learned how to also say the phrases 'I'm from Detroit' and 'How are you. I am well' and Thank you.'

"Muchos gracias San." Brittany tells you as she presses her nose into the side of your cheek and crosses her eyes goofy at you. You giggle in delight and squeeze her body where your hands rest.

"De nada Britt."

You find yourself staring intently into Brittany's eyes the next moment and are only drawn out of your trance by your mama calling the both of your names again. Brittany is slow to draw her attention away, giving you a bright smile when she does before she slips gently from your lap.

"I shall be back in a moment!" She exclaims before she turns to you once more and leans down to whisper against your cheek.

"Te amo San. Thank you for being so wonderful."

Your throat constricts at her words as though she hasn't used them almost every day for the last two years, ever since you told them to her. As you watch Brittany slip gracefully into your house you also notice David's eyes go wide, and realize he must have heard what Brittany just spoke to you. Before you can formulate an explanation, Rudy is speaking up on your behalf.

"Brittany thinks it means she's saying 'You're special' because Tanny's too scared to tell her the truth."

You fit a glare on Rudy. You had hoped that would be something he'd keep to himself. He's usually so good at keeping secrets, but than you realize you never told him he could not speak of it to David. After all, David is far aware of your love for Brittany. When you glance towards your eldest brother you find that instead of contempt, he is smirking at you in his knowing way.

With a shrug he says, "Makes sense." And simply acts as if that is all the answer in the world he needs to supply. You grit your teeth and narrow your eyes, feeling the inherent need to fully defend yourself.

"You two are incorrigible and horrendous brothers. Honestly, I have no knowledge of why I bother showing affection for the both of you at all."

Both David and Rudy share a strikingly similar eye roll. You suppose it runs in the family.

"Please Tanny. You don't give that girl enough credit. She's not stupid, and if she doesn't know the way you feel yet than I'm a flying pig." David tells you after he gratefully accepts his food from your mama with a smile.

"I never said she was stupid, she's not. Brittany's a genius, but I don't want to bring her down with my obvious shortcomings by telling her the true depth of my feelings. It is unconventional and completely unfair to her. It's better if she remains unaware until I can provide her something more, or the world carries the capacity to treat us both right in equal regards." You know that David will not buy your words. You've run them against him before.

While he agrees that societies laws, and the way they dictate particular people-such as your family-purely because of the color of your skin is wrong, he thinks that Brittany is an exception as she clearly does not let these rules control or motivate her views or beliefs. You wish it were that simple.

Your brothers argue no further with you, and would be unable to regardless as Brittany returns a moment later and takes a seat in the chair next to you. Her hand instantly seeks out your own and the moment she finds it she interlocks your fingers and gives it a squeeze glancing towards you in the process. She mouths those words again and your heart flutters.

"You as well Britt. You as well."

You promise yourself that she will not have to bear witness to your cowardice for much longer.

* * *

_**May 20th, 1929**_

Your hands are clammy and cool, causing the item that you are attempting to hold in their unstable grip to keep slipping. You are forced to adjust your grip so that it does not fully fall from your grasp. You take a deep breath, glancing once more the street and surrounding area of the depot outside of Brittany's schoolhouse.

You are thankful that the schoolhouse that Brittany attended for the last four years is in a different section of the city than her original one. The area is a safer and much cleaner part of the city. One where you may be assured that she will remain safe when not in your presence. She finishes her final day of school this afternoon and for that you are grateful.

You are not entirely grateful for the notion that Brittany has other people whom attend school with her, as you cannot. People who are not you. People such as Mike Chang and Finn Hudson. Both of whom have been pursuing Brittany more ardently this past year.

You understand to a point, truly you do. Brittany is kind and smart and beautiful. She may not strive from a decidedly well to be family, but she would surely present any suitor a very lovely prospective wife. Thus another feat you care not to think about.

Brittany is no longer oblivious to the attention, and you rather think she never truly was, as her sweetness often gets her into arduous situations that you find yourself helping her out of.

Though you burn with fury to learn how Finn and Mike and the other boys court her so, she never fails to call on you or return to you when they think that they may have won her heart. As far as you can tell, Brittany has remained in firm ownership of her heart. And for that you are immensely grateful.

Today is going to be different than any day you've ever lived before. For one, you wholeheartedly plan on finally disclosing the full and present truth of your love and feelings for Brittany while presenting her a gift that she has been in desire of since she began her dancing three years ago.

As you stand outside on the street that lines Brittany's schoolhouse, you hold in your hand the most nifty and new set of dancing shoes. Particularly, you hold the ones that Brittany could not take her eyes off of every single time the two of you walked by where they stood in the shop window.

A flash of golden blonde and deep red catch your eye and you turn your head to most fully observe the sight that plays out before you, next to the schoolhouse exit door where Brittany steps out. You smile in her direction, sure she has seen you, and take a moment to admire the flowing day dress that adorns her figure.

Once again the beauty that radiates from Brittany and the splendor that shines out in brilliant rays wherever she goes mesmerizes you. At eighteen years old she has reached the pinnacle of her maturity, though you suspect there will never be a time when she does not become more beautiful. She is tall, not awkwardly so, but taller than you by at least a good half foot. She remains slim but her curves have grown and shaped her body most stunningly.

You had finally grown into your own curves over the summer of your seventeenth birthday, but still you find Brittany to be more awe inspiring and worthy of attention. She tells you that you are beautiful, and is adamant in actively pointing out the features with which she is most enamored by upon your own body. As you feel with Brittany, she is most fond of your smile and your eyes but has made is a point to mention how lovely she thinks your skin is as well.

You are pulled from your head in the clouds thinking when many of the other kids that attend school with Brittany begin to pass by where you stand in wait for your friend. You try your best to ignore their jeers and awful sneers. Despite your friendship and popularity with Brittany and most of her friends, there are still a number of people who think less of you simply because you are darker than them. It is in your best interest that you ignore them, and thus the reason you do.

Just as you think it a proper time to approach Brittany, you glance up and are forced to immediately pause in your stride.

There standing in front of Brittany, closer than you would ever deem acceptable, is Mike Chang, and he's holding up something to Brittany in the palm of his hand. You watch just long enough for Brittany to raise her hands to her mouth in surprise, before the lines on her face crease and you know she's smiling behind her hands.

You glance once at the shoes you hold in your hand before you turn on the ball of your foot and begin to walk away. A heavy burden weighs on your heart, and you feel as though you're suffocating. You should have known that in the end, Brittany would have to choose some boy instead of you to be with. And if you had told her how you felt sooner, you don't think it would have made much of a difference.

There are rules that dictate such things.

Your steps are heavy as lead as you walk from the area you had waited, adjacent to the schoolhouse. You don't turn around; you don't think you could survive what would be waiting for you to see. As you reach the edge of the street you notice a waste receptacle perched on the corner of the street. With one more apathetic glance at the item you hold in your hand, you place the dance shoes into the receptacle and make your journey home.

You never thought being in love could feel this unpleasant.

* * *

David, nor Rudy, nor your mama or papa have the courage to inquiry as to your gloomy state when you arrive home, without Brittany, some quarter hour later. You give them a feeble indication that you have no interest in talking of the matter for which you are so solemn and they respectfully adhere to your wishes.

Now you find yourself staring blankly at the far side of your bedroom wall. You have no light illuminating your room, you would much rather to stay engulfed in what darkness you can find. Though it still remains midday, shadows are what seem to dictate most of your life anyhow, and such they are only fitting.

You hear commotion in the section of your house that you suspect is the kitchen. You cannot make out the voices, just the low murmurs and distinctive octaves that suggest it is at least your mama and papa speaking and possibly one of your brothers. A heaving sigh is released from your body and you wipe at your eyes as another silent tear pushes from the corner of one.

Despair has never been something you are fond of, so in effort of displacing your somber feelings you grasp the book that rests on your bedside table and using the light of the mid afternoon sun that still filters in through your window, you begin to read from where you had last left off.

A few minutes into your reading you hear the gentlest of calls float through your window.

"San."

You could tell Brittany's voice from anywhere. That is not to say that you must pay attention to it.

"Santana. I can see you reading." Is heard much louder and with a distinctly stern edge to the tone. Your heart skips a beat and you curse it for its betrayal.

"Please San, I must speak with you." This particular sentence is uttered almost silently as if on a last desperate breath. You sigh and attempt to ignore the way Brittany's sad voice causes your heart to pull for a different reason. You can almost see the tears in her eyes, and despite the fact that Brittany is the cause of your own pain and tears, you cannot help but feel guilty even if half of that guilt is also anger for her not choosing you.

It's silly, you know, Brittany has every right to live her life how she so desires. You purely had some mythical belief that she wanted to live it with you, in at least half the capacity you so desire the life to have with her.

You hear her plead again and you finally acquiesce, more do in part to the pain it is still causing your chest to know that Brittany may cry, if she has not already begun. No matter how difficult and dreary you feel, you would never forgive yourself if you were the cause of the same thing with Brittany.

Without glancing in her direction, you stand from your bed and grab the plank that rests on the hardwood floor. You slide it across from your window to rest on hers before turning and climbing back into the comfort of your bed. You have picked up your book and have continued to read from where you left off when you sense a figure in the outline of your window.

"What are you reading?" Brittany's voice floats to your ears. It is small and quite, as if she is shy and unsure of her actions in regards to you. That makes you feel at the least a little better, if only to know that Brittany feels some sense of guilt in the matter. You heave a deep sigh.

"There are certain things which are human nature, which always have been and always will be, which can't be changed." You read from the Fitzgerald book you hold in your hand. _This Side of Paradise_ has always been one of your and Brittany's favorites. You hear the way Brittany's breath hitches as you speak the words; she knows as well as you what they mean.

"Does it say anything about the way you feel about me?" You suddenly find Brittany asking and you take not a moment longer before you whip your head around and glance at her in shock. At this moment, you finally take in Brittany's figure and notice how your friend is holding up the pair of dancing shoes you had thought you had thrown away earlier in her hand. Your jaw goes slack in disbelief, your eyes widen in surprise.

"How did you?" You begin to ask, but Brittany is quick to interrupt you.

"I saw you walk away earlier and toss something in the trash. As soon as I could escape Mike's incessant pleas I went after you, but you were gone. I found these and I knew they were from you. Why didn't you give them to me?" She demands and for some reason the tone with which she uses to address you angers you more.

Was it not bad enough you had to watch Mike's courting, she must bring it to your attention again. And in such an accusing manner, as if it were you whom did something wrong. You huff and turn your eyes away from Brittany to avoid watching her climb fully into your bedroom and take a step closer to your bed. You do not have to see her to know that she is looking at you expectantly.

"Why does it matter?" You ask, clearly deflated and on the very edge of giving up. You see Brittany step even closer to you out of the corner of your eye.

"It matters, Santana, because I need to hear you tell me you were giving these to me because you knew they were exactly what I wanted because you know me so well and you have feelings for me and you want to kiss me." Brittany tells you and you cannot stop the way your eyes turn to look at her. To truly look upon her, though you say nothing.

"Talk to me Santana!" Brittany exclaims and you can see the way her cheeks and the tips of her ears turn pink and then red as her anger bubbles over the surface.

It takes you only a moment when confronted with her tone to spring from your own bed and point an accusing finger in her direction. You know your eyes burn a dark black, most decidedly holding onto a rage that you won't let escape yet.

"Clearly you are right, but that doesn't matter any so why should I bother?" You question, finding that truly is the one you want answered from Brittany. You watch as blue eyes narrow.

"It matters because I want nothing more than for you to kiss me too. I have feelings for you as well!"

For a second, only a second, you feel as though you have an out of body experience. It is quite the surprise to hear those words tumble from Brittany's lips and for a moment you suspect you are imagining them. Then Brittany steps towards you and gently takes your hands and your consciousness returns and you clearly recognize how very awake you truly are, and how Brittany very much just spoke the words you have always wished to hear from her.

"You…what?" You realize that your mouth has not properly caught up with the thoughts of your brain, and words seem to be tumbling about. Brittany smiles kindly at you however and one of her hands releases your own to press gently to the skin of your cheek. Her blue eyes, which shine with a new brightness you've never seen before, stare deeply into your own.

"Te amo," As soon as the words escape Brittany's lips you feel your heart fall heavy in your chest. You had a feeling that Brittany meant that. You glance up and almost wish she wasn't in such close proximity to you, it would make accepting the entirety of the situation a little simpler on your heart. With a dejected sigh, you open your mouth to begin protest of Brittany's words, you intend to tell her what they really mean and see how much she'll care to say them then.

"I love you." You hear the words but your mind is again unable to fully register the implication of them.

"I love you, Santana Lopez." You are staring at Brittany's lips when the words leave her mouth this time, and you are more than positive that they did precisely occur. There are a series of events that occur within you in the moments following Brittany's words.

You're eyes go wide. Your jaw drops open. The breath is drawn from your lungs in surprise. Your heart skips a beat before it flutters and threatens to float away. And then realization hits you. Brittany just spoke the words that she loves you. Once more, spoke them in the form of 'te amo' and in the simplest of considerations that could only mean one particular factor.

"You knew?" The words escape your parted lips in such a manner that you are at first unsure the words are indeed your own. Brittany's soft giggle ensures you that they were and your eyes immediately return to hers.

"Of course I did, I'm not blind you know. I've seen the way you look at me, it is the same way I always look at you. Though you seem to not notice more often than not. I knew what you were saying in Spanish because both your brother's speak it and Rudy happens to like me better." Brittany is suddenly saying with a hint of a smile and you find your eyes narrowing on their own accord.

"That little traitor, I'll have hi-" Your words are silenced by the touch of Brittany's lips pressing into your own and if you thought you had lost your breath earlier, it does not compare to the sensations that Brittany's lips are now providing. You find yourself easily becoming lost in Brittany's soft rose-colored lips, which embody everything you have ever thought to be perfect.

A warm breeze on a summer day. The way your yard smells after an evening shower. Your mama's home cooked meal. Your papa's laughter. The feeling of falling asleep with Brittany in your arms. You had never thought there to be anything more exquisite.

But there are not words in any language you know that may provide rectifiable justice to the way Brittany's lips feel against your own.

And their taste is even more indescribable. Like honey and cinnamon and hints of the peaches that Brittany so often enjoys. Suddenly Brittany's lips pull back and disengage from your own. You realize your eyes are closed and are not entirely sure as to when that might have occurred. There is a pout upon your face as you slowly blink your eyes open and attempt to discern why the wondrous feeling you were enjoying has ceased.

You find Brittany with downcast eyes and a hurt and guilty look on your face. Does she already regret what she has done?

"I'm sorry San. I didn't mean to kiss you like that without permission, I promise you don't have to do that if you are not ready." She tells you and you find your brow crinkling in confusion. Then the very notion dawns on you, Brittany believes that you had no desire to kiss her. You wish you had the ability to slap yourself this moment, if you had possibly returned the kiss then perhaps she would not think that.

A split second decision is made and you find that it is you who pursues action as you propel your body forward and your hands come to frame Brittany's delicate, beautiful face between them before you softly press your lips to hers. You never desire a day to go by where Brittany does not get to feel your love for her. Not after she has declared that she feels the same.

You are bold with your movement and though you must strain to meet Brittany's height, you do not regret it as you explore the feeling of having Brittany's lips pressed to your own. You tilt your head to the side so that your noses do not hinder each other and tilt your chin to press more firmly into Brittany.

You feel something stretch across your lips and you realize that Brittany is smiling against them. Your heart warms at the notion and a sound escapes your throat that sounds as though a sigh or other sound of content is attempting to push its way through your sealed lips. Brittany's hands drop to your hips and pull you closer. You melt into her as though you are both one.

When you must pull your lips from Brittany's after what seems to be a lifetime, a splendid and tremble inducing moment, to take a gasp of air and fill your parched lungs, Brittany leans her forehead into your own and gazes at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes. She smiles and you find it automatic to return a smile. Your hands have slid to the back of her neck and your fingers play with the fine soft hairs that linger there.

Brittany remains gazing at you with a smile on her face wider than any you have witnessed from her before, though you have no quarrels with the notion as you suspect that your smile is just as wide as well. That is the way she makes you feel.

"That was sw-" Brittany begins to say but you cut her off with a quick peck to the lips. You cannot hold what you have inside of you for any longer. It desires to come out.

"I love you too Brittany." You murmur the moment your lips part and you hear Brittany's breath hitch at your words before her lips are pressing to your own again. The kiss lasts for an exceedingly smaller amount of time but is just as sweet and perfect. When Brittany pulls back this time around, she nuzzles her nose to your own and brushes them together eliciting a giggle from your mouth that you were unaware you could produce.

An exclaim of joy is made from Brittany and you soon find her arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You laugh at the feeling and hold her close and spin her around in joy. When you allow Brittany's feet to touch the ground she nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck.

"You make me so happy Santana."

Your heart flutters at those words and you hold her closer. A moment of silence passes before you slowly shuffle the both of you over to your bed and fall, albeit a tad ungracefully, on to the top of the bed. Brittany's giggles fill your ears and again melt your world. Everything you could have ever hoped to come true seems as though it has.

You gaze into Brittany's eyes and take a moment to admire that vibrant blue with the silver speckling you love so much. You lean to press your lips to hers again, not believing that you will ever get enough.

The way that Brittany makes you feel renders you blissfully incoherent, so much so that you do not even first register the way your door bursts open and a voice fills the room, getting caught on only the first syllable.

"Say…"

You are slow to gaze upon the intruder, but as you do you find your brother Juan staring back at you, his brown eyes as wide as saucers, his mouth dropped in surprise, appearing to be unable to utter a further word.

* * *

**Thanks again everyone! Your continued support in this story is what's keeping it going :)**

**-A**


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